


To Spoil the Sun

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, Fellowship of the Ring, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2011-08-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 22:48:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3746430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is Shamsa of her people, the Sun of the Haradrim. Her mother is Alatar, an Istari trusted to spy on Sauron, where her father is the Malikun, Suladân, the cheiftain of the Haradrim. After an unwelcome encounter with a servant of the Dark Lord, she is bonded to Sauron and sent away to be protected in Rivendell. Can she escape the temptation of Sauron or will she join him willingly like the rest of her people? ~*~The prologues shows how the main character's mother became Alatar. It is not too overally important since it only shows how Alatar and Pallando are female. Chapter 1 introduces the main character.~*~ Featured in the story: Elladan, Elrohir, Haldir, the Fellowship, Rivendell, Glorfindel, Elrond, Harad, Mordor, Sauron, and many other people and places It is generally a Action/Drama story with some Angst later. It will be a blend of book and movie. And there will be Romance. Adult for later chapters.  ****YOU DO NOT NEED TO READ THE PROLOGUE TO UNDERSTAND THE STORY****</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

She awoke the annoying bleeping of her alarm clock.  It was 4:30 in the morning.  She hit snooze blindly and turned over sleepily, snuggling closer to her husband.  He mumbled something she could not understand and pushed her gently away.  He spoke groggily again as she tried to get next to him, "Kiara… Kiara, get ready for work.  It's Monday."  Jealous, she rolled out of bed, cursing her husband's superiors for having him go into work three hours later.  As the hot steam poured down upon her, she cursed her own superiors for having her go in at 5 am.  _Blast it!  I want real water!  In Canada, I had real water._   She stepped out and pulled on a pair of black slacks, a white blouse and her white lab coat.  She threw up her black hair into a ponytail and did some quick make-up in the mirror.

            She opened the door to their bedroom to find her husband curled cutely about himself.  She went over to him and leaned down, whispering as she kissed him, "Patrick, you lucky dog." Grabbing a pouch of freeze-dried apples, she headed out. 

            It still amazed her, the International Atlantis.  It was a bunch of rooms, making up a small village, which was floating in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.  After WW3 began, the world was devastated and barren.  NATO had built a hospital in the middle of the Atlantic to serve patients of the war, for it was agreed between NATO and Soviet Union that the International Atlantis was a safe haven for any injured person of the world, whether they are from NATO countries or the Soviet Union.  The International Atlantis worked night and day for it was the only area in the world to be radiation free and many of their patients were people who had radiation poisoning.  So many more patients came each day because WW3 was not over and it hadn't been for a hundred years. 

            As she stepped into her office, she slipped on a nametag that read, 'Dr. Kiara McBride, Genetic Counselor'.  She was greeted by several of her nurses and went to call the first of her patients in.  "Mrs. Harrison?"  An old, wrinkly woman stood and began to make the long journey across the room with her cane. 

            "Lonnie!  Help Mrs. Harrison would you?"  Kiara slid back into her office, letting her intern guide Mrs. Harrison.  Sooner than she thought, Mrs. Harrison was inside her office and sitting patiently as Kiara called up her files on the computer.

            "It seems that might need to be tested for breast and ovarian cancer, Mrs. Harrison.  Both of those run in your family.  Where do you live?"  She could guess that Mrs. Harrison lived somewhere in the United States, but she could not pinpoint it exactly.

            "Cincinnati."

            "My grandmother lived in Cincinnati.  Good city…was…  When was the latest bombing?"

            "Last October.  After my husband died from radiation poison, I took it upon myself to come here and get tested."  Her eyes became misty but then she rubbed her tears away.

            "Well, Mrs. Harrison, I am going to recommend you to a good colleague of mine, Dr. Joy Kleisinger.  She's great and very excitable."  Seeing Mrs. Harrison's dubious look, she set her heart at ease with, "Here, I'm going to put her on speaker so you can get a feel for her."  She dialed a number and let it ring.

            On the third ring, Dr. Kleisinger picked up.  "Hello?"  Her voice was high and lofty.

            "Hola, mi amor, Joy.  Tis your good friend Kiara here.  I have a Mrs. Harrison who is at risk for breast and ovarian cancer.  Can you give her a couple of zaps of your radiation?"  Kiara smiled wryly at Mrs. Harrison as Joy reprimanded her.

            "Kiara, we don't zap anyone here.  We don't have radiation.  Although, I can test and treat her if necessary.  Just send her on down."

            "Will do, Joy Joy."

            "Lunch?"

            "Si, mademoiselle."  With that, Kiara hung up and turned back to Mrs. Harrison.  "Okay, Mrs. Harrison.  I'm going to send you down to 2A with Lonnie to get you tested and possibly treated.  What I need you to do is send your daughter in next week.  I tried to call her but her phone is down.  Just need to check on the little one in her belly.  Lonnie!"  She opened the door and showed Mrs. Harrison out.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

            "You know, I read that Rita Welty was taken away last week.  I heard she was found trying to poison patients."  Kiara munched happily on a sandwich as she gossiped with Joy.

            "We have a whole world of wackos.  We don't need any in the only safe haven.  Did you hear that they burned down the last library in the world and it was right in D.C.?"

            "Yeah, they stripped the building of text books and history books and burnt all of the fiction.  It is as if the US government is trying to kill imagination, just like the rest of the world.  How is anyone supposed to have fun?"

            "I don't think we're supposed to be having fun.  Not with the world's largest war going on.  I can't believe it has lasted a hundred years.  You think by this year that they'd be like, 'Hey, let's call it quits, fellas.'  But no, it's 2045 and they are still going at it."  Joy wiped her chin free of the mustard that had just slid down it.

            "Although, it does give us good business."

            "Yes, it does."  She paused before asking, "Is Patrick working today?"

            "Yes, he's policing the boarding patients."  The International Atlantis was so sought after it had at least a hundred police officers on board in order to keep it chaos-free, as much as possible.  "What are your afternoon duties?"

            "Surgeon.  You?"  They were short on staff and so divisions where they tested patients and areas that did not have many patients were put on double shifts in order to compensate.  

"I'm actually supposed to be helping inspect the patients about now.  Got to go, chica."  She kissed Joy on the cheek as she quickly left the room.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

            "Hey, baby," she greeted Patrick with a kiss.

            "Hey, Kiara.  I've got the children and their mothers over on the right."  He pointed.  There were five children, three with mothers.  "And the elderly over there.  And adults on the left.  Of course those who needed immediate help are receiving it now."

            "Thank you ever so much, Pat.  Okay.  Tell those who are waiting that Melissa and Robert will be with them shortly.  I have child duty today."  She rubbed her hands together as she approached the children and their mothers.  "Hello all, I am Kiara McBride and I will be diagnosing your problems today."  She bent down and sat cross-legged on the ground.  She pointed to the first boy, motioning him to sit.  "What's your name?"

            "William," his mother cut in before he could speak.

            "Ah, Guillermo.  What hurts?"

            "His stomach."  His mother had done it again.

            "Hey, mom.  I usually let the kids tell me what's wrong with them because it seems a little more truthful.  Okay?"  The mom turned away, tapping her foot.  "Now, Guillermo.  You tell me."

            "My tummy hurts," he mumbled.  "It hurts right down here."  He pointed to his appendix.  She reached out and pushed on it a little bit, making him gasp in pain.  Then, she tickled him.  "Go to the Pediatric Lobby, ask for Dr. Kiley Sanders, and she will be your Pediatrician.  She's good and she'll cure anything this little guy has," she told the mom.  She grabbed her son and quickly went away.  "Next!"

            This time it was a little blonde girl, her mother worried terribly.  "What's your name, sweetie?"    

"Emilee," she murmured.

           

            "What's wrong with you, Miss Emilee?"

           

            "I'm getting a bone marrow transplant from my sissy, Erica."  She pointed to a little girl who stood just behind their mother, wearing the same six-year-old face Emilee had.

           

            "Mom, you know where to go?"

           

            "Yes."

"Hop to it, chicas."  She motioned over the next boy, who had a sever rash and told him and his mother to go to the infectious disease ward, leaving only a small boy at the back.  "Hey, little mister, come here."  He moved slowly forward, his legs shaking.  "What hurts, little one?"

           

            "My great-great-grandfather was asked by Manwë to give this to you.  Since none of my ancestors could give this to you, it was my duty, Kiara Elise Woods."  He knew her maiden name, which was strange because the only people left in the world that knew that name were Patrick and Joy.  He handed her an old, large leather book.  "The Legendarium of Middle Earth, the last true book left in this world.  Keep it safe, Kiara Elise Woods.  This book tends to capture its reader."  He turned and strode towards the side of the Atlantis, the water of the ocean brushing roughly against the side from an oncoming storm.  "My duty is complete.  I am free."  He dropped off the side and disappeared beneath the waves.  Kiara scrambled to the side, calling into the deep, her eyes searching wildly.  "Patrick!  Patrick!"

           

            He ran to her side.  "What's wrong, Kiara?"

           

            "A boy fell into the water!" 

"The waters are too rough to find him."

"Someone needs to save him.  Christ!  We're at a hospital!  We save people!"  She started to remove her heavy clothes, wanting to dive in after him.  Patrick put a hand on her shoulder, pushing her away from the edge.

"He's lost, Kiara!  Even you can't save him!  People die!  Everyone dies!"

"Then what joy is living if we can't escape the inevitable?!  What use is a hospital other than to help delay death?"  The skies broke open and rain drizzled down upon them as if crying in hopelessness.  "If we die, instead of going painfully through the motions of life, why doesn't everyone just do what they are destined to do?"  He went to hug her but she pushed him away.  "Just leave me be."  When he did not move, she screamed, "Go away!  I don't want you!"  Hurt, he got up and walked away, not looking back.  Crying, she screamed into the heavens a wordless scream, clutching the book tightly to her chest.  The only word going through her mind was 'why'.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

"Kiara," Joy knocked on the open door of her bathroom, looking down at her friend who sat coiled in a ball inside the shower, steam pouring down upon her clothed body.  Joy slid the door open, reaching a hand out and grasping Kiara's arm.  Pulling her up, she wrapped a beach towel around Kiara's shoulders, hugging her close.  "C'mon, let's get you dry.  Go into your room and get some pajamas on.  The administration has the hospital on lock down because of the storm.  Patrick is sleeping over at our place tonight.  Henry will provide excellent food and our spare bedroom for him."  She pushed Kiara into the bedroom, pulling the door close.

It was not the first time Kiara had had an episode like that.  She had known her since they were in middle school, but she also knew that Kiara did not normally break down.  To Kiara, life was sacred; so sacred that it usurped any and all duties if there was a life in danger.  Joy knew the reason for how Kiara held life and it seemed that Patrick still could not feel his wife's anguish.  Joy took Kiara to see a fertility doctor when she found out her friend was having trouble conceiving.  When they received the test results, Kiara had been severely depressed for two weeks; she was barren.  Joy noticed that since Kiara had gotten the results back, she held the lives of children more hallowed than anything.  Seeing a child die earlier only stirred up sorrow from the past.

Five minutes later, Kiara came out, dressed in a white nightgown that had a light green leaf pattern across the deep neckline.  "Feeling better," Joy asked as Kiara, laid down next to her, resting her head on Joy's thigh.  "I'm sorry, honey," she whispered as Kiara cried softly.  "I'm so sorry." 

They sat like that until Kiara stopped crying.  She sat up and asked Joy where the book was.  Joy looked confused, "What book?"

"The big leather book.  It's here somewhere."  She went into the bedroom and looked, not finding it.  Frantically, she looked all around her apartment.  Finally, she spotted it on top of the closed toilet lid.  "Thank you," she prayed quietly.  Coming back into the living room, she brought the book to Joy.  "Can you read this to me?"

"Sure, chica."  Joy waited for Kiara to settle down on the couch and opened the book.  "What's this book called?"

"The Legendarium of Middle Earth."

"Sounds boring."

"I don't care if it's boring.  I just want to understand why this book is so important."

"Okay, I'll give it a whirl."  Joy turned the title page and saw the author.  "J.R.R. Tolkien?  I've heard that name before.  Can't remember where though…  Okay, sorry.  Now, then."  She looked down and struggled with the title of the first part.  " _The Silmar_ …shit, _The Silmarillion_.  That is a word I have never seen before…"  She cleared her throat.  "There was Eru, the One, who in Arda is called Ilúvatar; and he made first the Ainur, the Holy Ones, that were the offspring of his thought, and they were with him before aught else was made…"  The world and words blurred and they both drifted off into sleep, dreaming about Middle Earth.   

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

That night the ocean swallowed the Western dorm, murdering one hundred and forty-eight people.  Kiara McBride's apartment was in the Western dorm, while Joy Kleisinger had a dorm in the Eastern dorm.  _The Legendarium of Middle Earth_ deteriorated beneath the waves, the first copies of _The Silmarillion_ , _The Histories of Middle Earth_ , _Unfinished Tales_ , _The Children of Húrin_ , _The Hobbit_ , _The Lord of the Rings_ and many more of the Legendarium were lost forever.  It is said that not long after the deaths of Kiara Elise McBride and Joy Daniella Kleisinger, their husbands Patrick Thomas McBride and Henry Ronald Kleisinger committed suicide, the former was the first and Henry followed.  NATO won the Third World War, ending it after one hundred years, leaving the Earth barren, burned, and inhabitable.  The rest human race left the dying planet and sailed across the star sea, finding new places to live.  And so the planet died, leaving traces of the horror of the human race.  It was a warning for the rest of the universe: everything that is good and pure is destroyed by excessive industry, selfishness and greed.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

_From the deep, I bring you, Alatar and Pallando.  I am Eru Ilúvatar and I know you.  You were formerly known as Kiara Elise Woods and Joyce Daniella Puckett, but that was in your broken world.  This is Arda, a land you know only from words.  Your people have suffered for many long years, you have spent your lives trying to save others, and for your efforts, I grant you a new life in this world.  Both of you have struggled with personal vulnerabilities, but I shall grant your freedom from them.  Alatar, your womb is now fertile.  Pallando, life to you now will no longer feel numb and fake as it had before.  You are now Maiar; you are followers of Oromë._

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

And so it was that Kiara became Alatar and Joy became Pallando, the Maiar of Oromë.  And for a long time they did the bidding of Oromë, happy and blessed, but they were acutely aware of the growing evil.  There came a time in the Third Age, just like in _The Legendarium of Middle Earth_ , that Alatar and Pallando were sent to Middle Earth.  Of course, Alatar and Pallando did not remember their former lives as Kiara and Joyce or the Legendarium.  Their mission was beautifully retold in the Legendarium: _It was afterwards said that they came out of the Far West and were messengers sent to contest the power of Sauron, and to unite all those who had the will to resist him; but they were forbidden to match his power with power, or to seek to dominate Elves or Men by force and fear._   Then the one Men called Saruman the White travelled with them to the East, past Mordor and after a time left them to be the spies on the inside.  Alatar and Pallando, women from the year 2045 AD, were alone in Harad.


	2. Ch. 1: The Fiery Verse

Chapter 1: The Fiery Verse

"Eruain," Alatar called to her daughter, who was busy washing clothes in the bubbling oasis just outside their house.  "Haraduien seeks your company."

"Coming, Ammë," she spoke mother in Quenya, her mother's preferred language.  When she was alone with Alatar, they spoke Quenya, but when her father was around, they spoke Haradaic.  Her father was Malikun, king of their tribe.  Their tribe bore a flag with a winding serpent on a blood red background, labeling them as the Af'aa clan.  It was unusual for her father to be around during the day for he was always planning their next battles.  The Af'aa was the best warring clan in all of Harad.  They had the most skillful warriors and the best strategies.  It was a good choice in Eruain's mind that her mother had married into the Af'aa clan.

She knew of her mother's mission and never tried to jeopardize her.  Her father was unaware and so were the rest of the Af'aa clan.  They never suspected that she was an enemy of Sauron when all of the Harad were wary of the Dark One.  From time to time Eruain would help her mother send letters to the Grey one via the Nasraat, the eagles.  It was expected of Eruain from a young age to never tell her father and she intended to keep her promise to her mother.  Even then, it nearly broke her heart, constantly lying to her beloved Ab.

"Hurry, Eruain, or your Haraduien will lose his patience!"  _Ha! Who is losing their patience, Ammë?_ Her mother found it funny but appropriate that Haraduien fancied her.  His mother, Pallando, was Alatar's oldest and deepest friend, who had been through everything with her.  After Eruain's conception, Alatar and Pallando had dreamed Eruain would marry Haraduien when she was of age.  To their disappointment, Eruain only saw Haraduien as an older brother and quickly avoided his advances any time he made them.

Gathering the clothes at her feet, she ran up the sloping dune, slipping slightly in the sand.  "I am coming, Ammë!"  She really could not understand her mother's impatience at every little thing.  She was impatient when her Ab arrived home, hurrying to make dinner for him.  And when she was cleaning: everything had to be perfect but it had to be perfect in the shortest amount of time.  Eruain was much more like her Ab in that way; she was cautious to make an unthought-of move and did everything deliberately not on impulse.  It was something her Ab praised her for, and she was grateful for her Ab's favor.

Haraduien was waiting at the back door for her, dressed in the heir attire of her sister clan, Asad clan.  He wore a sleeveless maroon tunic embellished with the best golden thread and dark brown pants.  Upon his shoulder plates and on his boots were the manes of two Asad, lions.  He was as dark as his Ab, but held the silver-blue eyes of his mother.  His black hair was a long, coarse and was knotted, tied and braided in a sporadic fashion.  He was darkly handsome; would make a fine husband, just not Eruain's husband.  "Sadeeqa!"  He greeted her with Haradaic 'friend'.

"Akh!"  She never called him anything other than brother.  "Akhi!"

"How are you?"  He fell in step with her, content.  He disliked talking in Quenya and favored Haradaic.  Whenever he was near her all they spoke was Haradaic. 

"I am fine, Akhi."  She led him over to the clothesline and asked him to help her hang up the clothes.  Her undergarments were not an embarrassment to her as he pinned them on the line.  "Tell me of your day, Akhi."  She did not wish for silence when she had had no visitors in a long time.

"Abi had me settle a disagreement between farmers.  That took all day.  Nevertheless, I am here now and so I shall be refreshed by your presence."  Haraduien always used that tone with her.  He was a hopeless romantic and could not hide it in his speech.  "Never mind me.  What have you been doing all day?"

"Chores."  She groaned at the thought.  She was the only princess, a term used lightly, in Harad to have to do her own chores.  Most of the nobles and high-ranking military families had slaves and it bewildered her why both of her parents forbade servants and slaves in their household. 

As they finished hanging the clothes, Haraduien offered her his arm and led her out into the dunes.  Even though the winds changed the sands, every child in their village could find their way through the desert.  They were taught to look to the sun and the wind for council if lost and they would surely bring them back.  At night, they should look for the Evenstar.  It was not a perilous venture unless they happened upon wild Mûmakil.

They came to an area where ruins of a small, ancient temple sat buried beneath the sand.  They had often come there when they were children, playing made up games and climbing the ruins.  It was where Haraduien first kissed her.  Remembering that moment, she said, "Do you remember when you kissed me here?"  It was a dangerous move for her, but she loved to torment Haraduien.

He grinned sheepishly at the thought.  "I asked you if I could be the Ab of your tiflaat.  And you told me you could not be a mother just yet.  Although," he shifted closer to her, taking her hand, "I still think you would be an excellent mother."

"I cannot marry you, Haraduien.  You know this.  I have made it clear more than once."  She shied away from him.  She would have plenty of time to think about marriage.  She was still a tifla and he was only five years her senior.

"You have not made it clear why you can't marry me."

"I am sworn to a bond that I can never break.  In telling you the reason, I would be breaking that bond."

"Is it that important?  You call me 'Akhi', but you do not act upon it.  You do not treat me as a brother."  He was ashamed with himself that this conversation had gotten out of hand already.  Lately it seemed most of their conversations did.  _Is it that I push her too much for marriage?  Or is it something else?_

"If I treated you like an Akhi, would you question me so?  Would you want to know everything about me?  If you were my true Akhi, there would still be things you cannot and must not know."  She scaled a part of the old building, sitting atop the stone, dusting the sand off with her hand.  "The only things that are private to us are our emotions, thoughts, and sacred duties.  You know my status; do not question me, Akhi." 

"You know my status and I have the right to question you, milady," He hopped up next to her, towering above her.  He paced back and forth on the ruin behind her, causing her to sigh in exasperation.

"You may be the Qamar, but I am the Shamsa, and I have power over you."  She was the Sun of her people, the one the tribes of Harad loved the most, where he was the Moon, her advisor and protector.  She was the one the Haradrim prayed to, so in turn she could consult with the Sun god, Shams, the ruler of their gods.  She had other worldly powers that came with being half-Istari.  Haraduien, as the son of Pallando, had powers as well, but Eruain's proved to be more potent.  "I will not hear another word of this useless conversation."

"As you wish, Mu'allima."  He called her mistress in a sarcastic tone, annoyed that she had pulled rank on him.  "What do you wish to talk about then?"

"What news from the Asad tribe?"

"Other than the petty squabble amongst the peasantry?"

"Yes, other than that."

"Dhe'b clan has moved farther north towards Mordor."  She knew of the wolf clan, an unnecessarily dangerous clan of poisoners and traitors from the other tribes.  For many years before her conception, her Ab kept them under close watch, knowing that they would be the first to strike out against the other tribes first before any others.

"What do they wish from gaining an alliance with the Dark One?"  This information perturbed her endlessly.  As her mother's confidant, she knew the dangers Sauron posed to the entirety of Middle Earth.  She did not understand why any Haradrim, even those of the Dhe'b clan, would wish to join Sauron.  All Haradrim knew of his evil and saw the effects upon nature that He had upon them.  Many of their rainforest had dried and withered under his shadow and the deserts grew harsher every day.  Many of the tribes had also been subject to Orc attacks in the past and some much more recent.  She could not protect her people for long if Sauron became their new master.  It was a thought more terrible than having the Sun go dark.

"Power.  They want power so they can be the ruling clan."

"Does Abi know of this?"

"I do not know, but it began as a rumor from the merchants.  I find that there is little about the world the merchants do not know."

Standing up, she looked him in the eyes.  "Please tell me this rumor has not spread like fire."  The last thing she needed as Shamsa was her people in a panic. 

"I do not know."  He jumped down, feeling her urgency and offered his hand to her.  She took it and landed gently in his arms.  He set her down, not wanting to, but he knew she would chastise him if he held on.  "So I am guessing you will talk with Malikun."

"I must," she replied, gathering up her skirts, preparing for the hasty run back home as the Shams was setting.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

They arrived back as Qamar was starting to rise.  Her mother held the light outside her house precariously.  Alatar did not like when she was not back before dark.  She did not trust the desert nor did she trust the Haradrim.  She had lived amongst them since the turn of the Age, but she knew how traitorous they could be.  Her first husband had almost sold her into slavery after he found out she was delivering messages to the West and her son by him had gone to Sauron to tell him she was a spy, but by some mournful irony, he was murdered by a nomadic Harad tribe.  She wanted to protect her daughter at all costs.  She knew Eruain would be in safe hands with Haraduien, but she did not trust her friend's son as much as she should for he was under his father's influence.

As she spotted them, she lowered the light, blowing it out.  Quenya flowed out of her mouth, rushed and with a sense of relief.  "My child.  My love, you have returned safely."  Her mother hugged her panting form, caressing her softly on her cheeks.  "I have worried about you.  I did not think you would come.  I could not…"

"Yes, Ammë.  I am sorry I have caused you worry, but I am safe now.  Please, lead me to Atar."  It was the same speech her mother always gave her.  She did not want to bother with her concern now.

"Of course, Eruain."  Her mother frowned, knowing something was amiss with her daughter.  After twenty years with her, she knew everything about her.  She switched to Haradaic as she showed them into the living room where her Ab sat patiently, chewing on a piece of bread Eruain had made earlier.  "Za'ogi, Shamsa and Qamar request your presence."  Alatar knew she could not be present at a Haradaic clan meeting since she was considered an outsider.  She moved into the kitchen, finishing dinner.

"Abi," Eruain called lovingly to her father.

"Ah, my Shamsa," he hugged her with powerful arms.  She loved her Ab. 

"You are the Shams of my heart, Abi," she kissed him upon his tattooed forehead.

"Just as you are the Shams of mine, little one."  He returned the kiss and then turned to greet Haraduien.  "Mu'allim Asad, I hope your Ab does well."  He settled Eruain down in his lap, stroking her hair fondly.

"Abi does well, Malikun.  Thank you for asking."  Haraduien sat himself down on the chair opposite of his Malikun.

"Abi…"  Eruain hesitated.  She was suddenly regretting telling her Ab first and not Alatar.  But with Haraduien with her, she could only tell her Ab.

"What is it, little Shamsa?"

"Haraduien informed me that the Dhe'b clan has moved north…towards Mordor."  She felt the hand in her hair stop.

Flicking his dark eyes over to Haraduien, he asked with ire, "Where did you learn this, Qamar?"

"From the merchants.  They said they were travelling south from the Dhe'b camp when they heard their Mu'allim order the move to the north borders."  Haraduien was careful under the watchful eye of his Malikun.  He had heard stories about how awful and terrifying his gentle Malikun could be.  It was told that their Malikun had ancestry with the Olog-hai, the deadliest of the troll races, created by Sauron himself.

"I see.  Eruain, can you go help your Om in the kitchen?  I fear she might burn the kharoof I brought home from the market."  Kharoof, sheep, were not easy to find in the area around her village.  It was a delicacy he did not want to waste on his Za'oga's poor cooking skills.

Relieved to get out of the now tense room, she kissed her Ab and left.  Coming to her Ammë's side, she whispered softly in Quenya.  "The Dark One is gathering a Haradrim army.  The Dhe'b have already made the move north.  He must have seen something to make him want to enlist our help." 

Her mother nodded, knowing she must call for a Nasr to send the message to the Grey one.  "Thank you Eruain.  You have aided our cause."

A knock sounded at the door and everyone grew dead silent.  Alatar paled, knowing that she might have been heard.  Eruain moved to the wall beside the opening of the kitchen and watched her Ab open the door for a stranger wrapped in black.  The stranger did not move into the light but into the shadows behind the closed door.  It made a screeching noise before uttering something in the darkest language she had ever heard, the Black Speech.  She knew enough Black Speech to understand what the creature had said.

Craning her neck, she listened from behind the stone wall.  She motioned to Alatar to knead the bread so that it looked as if they were still unaware of the guest beneath their roof.

"Suladân, the Black Serpent, chieftain of the Af'aa clan, my Master sends his well wishes to you, your family, and your people."  The creature spoke in the Black Speech with a hiss.

Her Ab, not one to waste time on pleasantries, asked in the same tongue as the stranger, "What does your master want with the Haradrim?"

"An army."  Its answer was quick and delivered with a smile in its voice.

"For what, creature?"  Suladân did not wish to take part in a foolish war driven by the desires of the Dark One.  He knew of the dangers just like Eruain.

"He has been found."  
  


"Who has?"  
  


"Gollum." With this Alatar almost dropped the knife she was cutting the dough with. Eruain caught her with a frightened look and closed her eyes in fear. If Sauron had found Gollum, Gollum would tell him where the ring was. Her Ab was thinking the same thing.  
  


"Sauron thinks he has found Isildur's bane?"

"The creature Gollum has given us delicious information."  Eruain shivered with his words, feeling them crawl upon her skin.

"Where is it then?"

"I cannot tell you, but my Master needs an army to destroy the world of Men."

"How do I know Sauron will not turn on us?"

"Nothing is for certain, chieftain."  Eruain could feel his eye upon the wall she hid behind.  "Nothing is certain but the spoiling of the Sun."  Eruain grasped at her heart as she felt his words take hold.  Sliding to the ground, she cried a silent scream of pain.  She shook her head as Alatar made to move towards her.  She did not want to be found out.

"The Sun will never spoil, dark creature of Mordor, nor shall the Af'aa ever serve Sauron.  Ask other clans, but I assure you: none will come."  He could not help but feel the threat towards his culture and his daughter.  He would not risk them.

Moving towards the door, the creature spoke once more, "He will spoil the Sun.  He has seen it.  He will spoil the Sun when you learn the truth hidden from you.  That is when you will join."  The stranger fled quickly out the door and into the night.

Alatar rushed to Eruain's side, who was now moaning audibly in anguish.  "Suladân!  Suladân!"  She called to her husband, fear flooding her voice.  Soon her Ab was in front of her, carrying her into her bedroom, Alatar and Haraduien following with a hastened pace.

"Abi!  Abi!  My heart!  It burns!"  Suladân ripped the gossamer-like gown his daughter wore, examining her bare chest.  Nothing appeared to be wrong on the outside.  He pressed his ear against the place where her heart was, listening for a quickened or uneven pulse.  Again, he found no problems.  Turning her over, he studied her back.

Alatar let a scream of horror out as she saw Tengwar beginning to etch itself on her daughter's back. 

"What does it say?" Suladân demanded.  He would not risk losing his Shamsa.

Alatar gulped and did not speak the Black Speech but instead translated it into Haradaic.  "'A bloody road has been paved, the sacred war begun; no one shall be saved, when He spoils the Sun.'" Alatar watched her daughter writhe under her husband as he held her down and gently massaged her back.  Tears slipped from her mother's eyes as she watched her.

"What does it mean?" Haraduien asked anxiously.

Suladân did not move an inch as he spoke.  "It means Sauron means to win the coming war and Eruain will be his prize...  No, his bride." 

He asked Haraduien to step out with him as Alatar removed Eruain's ruined dress and replaced it with a far more beautiful dress: a pure white one made from gossamer and silk.  As she finished Alatar asked Haraduien to stay with Eruain as she gently cried herself to sleep.  Haraduien sat by her, stroking her hair while Alatar and Suladân excused themselves.  He could hear them argue in the hallway.

"I will not jeopardize Eruain by keeping her here," Alatar said in a hushed voice.

"What else are we supposed to do, love?  There is no other safe haven in Harad."

"Sauron can reach her here, Suladân.  I know of a safe haven in the West.  We can send her there."

"We have never been allies with the West.  How do we know she will be safe?"

"I have friends there, Suladân.  It is the last safe haven in the world.  Let us send her there.  Sauron cannot reach her there."

"He will stop at nothing to get her, that I am sure of.  But I am afraid to know the answer to why he wants her."  He pondered for a second, remembering the words of the stranger: _He will spoil the Sun when you learn the truth hidden from you._   "Why is it that he seeks her, my wife?"  Suladân had gained a dangerous tone in his voice.  Now, he suspected something.

"Because I am her mother."

"And what does that have to do with it?"  Haraduien heard Suladân slam the wall next to where he guessed Alatar was pressed against.

She said something in Quenya that Haraduien could barely make out.  All he heard was "Take her.  Run."  He could hear Suladân growl in fury.  "I am Istari and Eruain shall be saved."  She screamed another word in Quenya and Haraduien picked Eruain as he heard terror in Alatar's voice. 

Haraduien leapt down from Eruain's window to find a pair of giant eagles sitting delicately under the oasis tree.  Scrambling away from the house with Eruain in his arms, he approached the eagles with trepidation.

He heard a clear voice in his head.  He almost dropped Eruain as it pierced him.  "Do not fear half-Istari.  We will take you to safety as Alatar and Pallando have requested.  No harm shall fall upon you or the other half-Istari."  Haraduien put Eruain on the back on the first eagle.  "I shall carry her for I fear she might fall off."  Haraduien gently laid her on the ground in front of the first eagle and climbed on the back of the second.  He watched the first grasp his love tightly in its foot, careful of its talons, and take off.  A moment later, his eagle took off.  He could still hear Suladân's bellows as they took off and Alatar's cries of pain as her husband struck her.


	3. Ch. 2: The Gardens of Imladris

Chapter 2: The Gardens of Imladris

They had been traveling at a northwesterly and slow pace for three days.  Haraduien had eaten and gotten water when he needed it and slept in the eagles grasp when he wanted, but he was still afraid.  Eruain had not woken.  The eagles said it was the Dark Word of Sauron printed on her back that poisoned her.  They had just finished a quick stop before taking off.

It was then he realized his eagle was swooping north.  "What are you doing?" he yelled when he could no long trace the outline of the other eagle.

"I am taking you to Gondor where your mother wanted you to go.  You must warn the Steward of Sauron's movement."

"But why is Eruain not coming with me?!"

"Alatar was very specific when she said that Eruain was to go to Imladris.  Eruain needs Lord Elrond's healing.  You are not to go with her.  This was made clear."

"What if…"

"I am sorry, little Haradrim.  We must obey the Istari."

"I am half-Istari!  The other eagle said so!"

"You are not your mother."  This kept Haraduien silent.  He had left his people, his father, his mother, and now he had to leave his love.  He could not change fate; he knew this.  But it did not make the parting any less painful.  He had schooled himself that by the time they arrived at Minas Tirith all his tears were dry; his only thoughts were the information he must share.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

It was two days later that Eruain arrived into the care of Lord Elrond, master of Imladris.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

"My lord," Elrond bowed deeply to the eagle as it delivered its package.  He gently gathered Eruain in his arms, bidding farewell to the eagle.  "Till our paths cross again, old friend."  His Sindarin flowed gently and the eagle delighted in hearing it, pleased as it flew away.

"Ada?"  A voice called from the shadows.  She was intrigued by the coloring of the female her father carried.  The young female's skin was much darker than she had ever seen.  Her long black hair was a deeper, purer shade than that of the Evenstar's own.  The Evenstar was slightly confused by the manner of dress the young female wore: see-through except in the most private places.

"Have Lhûn prepare a room.  We have a guest of great importance."  Elrond took Eruain to his chambers, leaving her be as he waited for her room to be ready.  Lhûn entered with a deep bow and told him that the room was suitable.  She offered to carry Eruain, but Elrond kindly dismissed Lhûn and carried her himself.

He set her down upon the silk sheets, removing her clothing to inspect her.  He found nothing like her father had in the front, but when he turned her over, he was as shocked as Alatar was.  He ran a calloused, gentle hand over the Tengwar, mouthing the words in Sindarin.

"That is curious," he heard a voice again, this time hearing the feet patter loudly as the hobbit approached.  "That is a curious verse indeed, master Elrond.  What do you think it means?"

"This woman is doomed…  I have not yet foreseen what her role will yet be.  But I am dubious in regards to her safety."  Elrond try to ease Bilbo, smiling down at the hobbit as a grimace set firmly on his aging features.  "Dear Bilbo, go rest, this matter is of little importance to you.  I thought you had a book to write."  Elrond chuckled at Bilbo's grinning face as he made to leave.  "Do not concern yourself with this verse, dear hobbit.  It is nothing."  As Bilbo left, Elrond told himself that this matter was far from nothing.

Sitting down upon the edge of the bed, he closed his eyes and laid a hand upon her back, removed the poison from the script.  It had been easy to remove and did not seem to cause his patient much harm other than forcing her into a long sleep.  He clothed her again, kissing her forehead.  "Abi," she moaned as she felt his lips. 

"You will rest fine tonight, little one.  In the morning, you will find yourself in an unfamiliar place, but you are welcome here.  You shall find solace here, young one.  I fear for you.  I do fear for you."  Elrond left her chambers, assigning a guard to her room.  _When He spoils the Sun…_      

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

The soft singing of the birds awoke Eruain from her slumber.  The morning sun glowed dimly through trees she had never seen before.  Her bedroom, spacious and beautiful, was made from a rock unfamiliar and she could hear the wonderful sound of water rush in the distance.  _This is not Harad._

Moving to explore her new surroundings, she rolled over in her bed.  The sheets were cool and the bed soft.  _Where am I?_   She never heard the footsteps of the Evenstar nor saw her enter.  "Blessed morn to you, Haradrim," her Sindarin words were spoken low and soft.  Eruain whipped her head to the direction of her voice, eyes narrowing in concentration.  "I have heard of your people.  Some say your minds and hearts are as dark as your skin.  Although, I must say, I am not one to judge from rumors or first appearances."

"Silentwalker, you speak words unknown to me," Eruain kept still, very still like a statute.  She was waiting for the Evenstar to make a threatening move.  "Speak in words that I can comprehend."

"Do you only speak the language of the Haradrim?"  The Evenstar was surprised.  Her father had told her that Alatar would be wiser than to just teach her daughter one language.  Nevertheless, Arwen persevered and wished to be understood.  Motioning with her hands she asked, "Do you hurt?"  She made a demonstration of putting her hand to her head and wincing.

Eruain frowned at her display.  She could not understand what the Evenstar was saying other than something about hurting.  She pointed to herself at which the Evenstar nodded.  Shaking her head, Eruain replied, "No."  But her back ached slightly, making her wince and giving her away.

Arwen moved silently as if she floated across the floor.  Eruain eyed her warily as the Evenstar picked up a wet cloth and motioned for her to turn around in order to cool Eruain's burning skin upon her back.  She did not move and so Arwen went to take it upon herself to move Eruain at which Eruain, caught her swiftly by the base of her neck.

"My daughter, I do not think she trusts you so."  Elrond stood in the doorway, trying to hide his smile.  Turning to Eruain, he spoke quickly in Haradaic, wishing that she would release his daughter.  "Speak in Quenya and she shall understand you better, little one."

Taking his suggestion, she released the Evenstar and spoke in hesitant Quenya, "What are you doing, Silentwalker?"

"I wish to relieve you of pain from the burning script that appears on your back."

"How do I know you will not murder me whilst my back is turned?"

This is where Elrond broke the conversation once more.  "Your mother, Alatar, trusts us enough to keep you safe from Sauron.  I wish you will put the same trust in us as she does.  We will not let harm come to you, little one."

Eruain cautiously turned her back to Arwen, who pushed the fabric that covered Eruain's back out of the way to gain access to the burning flesh.  Gingerly, she put the wet cloth against the script that was still inflamed.  Eruain gasped, slightly in pain, but was calmed by the soft-spoken words of Arwen, who tried to reassure her in Sindarin.  Eruain cocked her head towards Elrond, asking in Haradaic, "Where am I, Silentwalker?"

"In Rivendell or known to some as Imladris, the Last Homely House East of the Sea."  Elrond, filled with pride, smiled at Eruain, telling her, "I am Elrond, Lord of Imladris and this is my daughter, Arwen Undómiel, the Evenstar of our people.  What are you called?"

She answered, proud as Elrond, "I am Eruain Bintsuladân, daughter of Alatar and I am the Shamsa of Harad."

Elrond looked confused with her title.  "What is the Shamsa of Harad?"

"Shams means Sun and it is the name of our Sun god.  I am Shamsa, High-priestess of Shams."

"You hold power?"

"I am second authority in Harad; my father is the first, being Malikun…"  Elrond's gaze had become perplexed once more and so she clarified in Quenya, "ah, royalty… king."

"You are the princess?" Arwen understood 'king'.  She finished washing Eruain's back and draped the see-through cloth over her back once more.

Switching to Quenya, she answered, "Yes. This marks me as so."  Eruain lifted the hem of her skirt to her knees where they could see a tattoo of a red-eyed black snake coiled up her left leg.  Its open mouth with its teeth bared rested open the top of her foot and Elrond and Arwen dare not imagine where the tattoo stopped for it looked as if it wound its way far up.  "That is the mark of Af'aa, my clan.  Only the Malikun and the Shamsa wear it."  Turning her right wrist over, she showed them the tattoo of a pale yellow sun.  "This is the Shamsa seal.  At birth, Malikun offers his daughter to Shams and if Shams approves, Malikun binds his daughter to Shams and she becomes the Shamsa."

"You wear strange paint.  You distort your image that Ilúvatar has given you.  Why?"  Arwen could not understand why someone could taint his or her body with permanent paint, adding to Ilúvatar's image.

"It is just the custom of my culture," Eruain replied, slightly offended, eyes flaring with certain coldness.  "When we take mates, we receive more tattoos, especially the women.  If I marry a Haradrim, I will wear more tattoos than most women will.  The men tattoo themselves as they please, but women wear only the marks that their fathers or husbands ask them to wear."  Looking over to Arwen, judging the Evenstar's infinite beauty, she smirked.  "If you had tattoos here," she pointed to the Evenstar's torso and thighs, "any man would want you, not just Haradrim."  The Evenstar glanced at her father, eyes wide with uncertainty.

Elrond motioned for Arwen to leave and she got up, saying, "May your love never dim, Ada. Na lû."  Eruain watched her depart, glaring at the fact she could not, for the life of her, hear the Evenstar's footsteps.

Elrond sat beside Eruain, taking her hand, bringing her back from her gaze.  She looked him in the eyes, hard and long, trying to discern anything and found nothing.  "Are you unhappy here, little one?"

She was not one to mince words or lie if it wasn't appropriate.  "Yes.  I am unhappy."

Not getting a reason for her unhappiness, Elrond pressed on, "May I inquire why?"

"Why do you think, Lord Silentwalker?  I am a lone Haradrim, far from Harad, far from my people, my home and my family.  I know no one here and you speak a language unfamiliar to me. You dress so strangely and have such pale skin; you are like ghosts.  I have no reason to trust you, but I shall for Ammë does."  She put a hand to her face in despair, "I want Abi."

Elrond wrapped his arms around her, his long sleeves draping over her.  He hugged her to his chest and she complied, wanting the love of a father.  "I may not be your Ab, but am Ab of three tiflaat.  I understand your hurt and I am sure your Ab and Om hurt at your parting.  Eruain…little Eruain, you will find your calling in Imladris just as you had in Harad.  My people will welcome you.  Please, we do not wish unhappiness upon you."  He held her away so that he could see if she was comforted.  "Besides the least of your worries is your happiness.  I think you shall find a certain companion that will have your full attention."  He stood, motioning with an arm, "Come, I shall introduce you."

"Lord Silentwalker…"

"Elrond, dear one."

"Lord Elrond, your daughter, she… do not misunderstand me, she did not look upon me with disgust, but I could tell she disapproved.  Perhaps, I should dress accordingly with the customs of Imladris."

"If you wish.  I will call Lhûn to get you some dresses you may wear."  He exited, leaving Eruain alone once more. 

She reached to her face, feeling the black paint upon smear from her tears.  "I forsake you, Harad."  She took the cloth and removed all of the ceremonial paint upon her face.  She stripped her arms and legs of golden bracelets.  "I forsake you, Harad."  She gently parted the gossamer cloth that covered her, discarding it upon the ground.  "I forsake you, Harad."  She took out her dangling earrings and pulled off every ring upon her fingers.  "I forsake you, Harad."  She removed the golden and wood trinkets in her hair, along with the feathers and shell beads.  "I forsake you, Harad."  Her tears were coming down like a storm as she dropped to her knees.  She fingered the long, dangling ornament that was pierced upon her navel.  She could not bring herself to part with the gift from Shams.  It was made from the purest gold and held the largest ruby in the world at the bottom of its chain.  "I forsake you, Harad, but I cannot forsake Shams." 

"Eruain," Elrond knocked softly upon the door.  He stepped inside and found her upon the ground, weeping.  He rushed to her side.  "What is wrong, little one?"

"It is nothing, Lord Elrond.  I am just remembering Harad."  He glanced at the piles of jewelry that lay beside her, picking up a bracelet in the shape of a serpent.  She saw him eying her gold and responded quickly, "That is nothing as well, Lord Elrond."

"Nothing is ever just nothing.  These are important to you.  Why else would you wear these?  Eruain, you are not casting off your culture because you are our prisoner.  You neither have to rid yourself of Harad nor are you our captive.  You don't even have dress in our fashion."

"This is for the best, Lord Elrond."  She pulled a white dress with a pale yellow trim from his arms.  "If you could excuse me…"  He got up and left again, silent as he came.  She pulled the cotton dress on, taking note about how much heavier it was that her gossamer.  The sleeves were long and brushed against the ground.  _This is going to be impossible to move in._   Soon enough she was ready.  She walked out of her room, spying a woman not far from her room.

She came up to her, speaking Quenya, "Excuse me, where is Lord Elrond?"

The woman just walked away from her as if she was not there.  _Maybe she doesn't understand Quenya._   Not bothering to follow the elf, she went down the opposite path that led her in a winding fashion into a large banquet room.  It was empty and she could feel the vibrations of her footsteps bounce off the walls.  Across the hall, there was a large feasting table.  At the head of the table, a man draped himself across the largest chair, one meant for Elrond.

Just as before, she approached, asking in Quenya, "Excuse me, where is Lord Elrond?"

The man turned, a smile dancing upon his face.  He replied in Quenya easily, "Lord Elrond has asked me to be your escort."  He stood, bowing low to the ground, eyes twinkling in amusement.  "I am Elladan, son of Elrond, brother of Elrohir and Arwen Undómiel."

Eruain, unsure with the new Silentwalker, examined him hesitantly, "What is it that he would have us do, Lord Elladan?"

He laughed aloud, "What would he – Who cares, Eruain?  Here is an important lesson: do what life wants you to do, not what stuffy old men want.  Live life like you're dying."

"You speak traitorous words, Silentwalker.  You would be left in a cage in the desert if you were in Harad."  Her eyes narrowed at Elladan's comments.  Where had she heard speaking like that?  _Haraduien_ , he mind reminded her.  It made her smile softly, but she hid it quick, not wanting the Silentwalker to see.

"Then I am glad I am not in Harad.  Now tell me, why did you call me Silentwalker?  I can handle Lord Elladan, in fact I would love it if you called me that always, but why Silentwalker?"

"I cannot hear you walk upon the ground."  Humiliation flooded her face; she could feel her cheeks burning.

"Not many can hear the footsteps of Elves, not even Elves themselves.  Your ears must be quick to hear our footsteps.  But yours," he scoffed, "I could hear you breathe from down that hallway."

"You're an elf?"  The stories her mother told her were true.  Eruain had always liked the stories about Elves; they were her favorites.  Now she had met four!  What she could tell to the people of Harad!  She grew even redder with a thought.  "Could I see… could I see your ears?"

He grinned and brushed back his hair, exposing his flesh.  "Pointed as told in stories, little Noisywalker."  She grimaced at his new nickname for her.  "Don't like that one?  How about 'Dark beauty'?  For that is what you are, my Dark beauty."  His eyes flashed in interest, but it almost seemed as if he was teasing.

"I'd prefer you just call me Eruain.  However, if you must call me anything, call me Shamsa.  That is my title."  She looked away, unable to show the same pride she had shown to Elrond.

He moved so that he was once again within her vision.  "And my title is Silentwalker?" 

"That is… no, it is not, my lord."

"I see."  They lapsed into silence, one that felt like eternity.  No longer being able to take it, Elladan took her hand and commanded, "Come." 

She complied for she had nothing else to do.  Once or twice, she tripped on the hem of her dress, but did not fall because Elladan caught her each time.  She was beginning to wonder if all of Rivendell was just twisting corridors when beautiful sunlight beamed down upon her.  She reveled in its rays and said a quick prayer to Shams.  Then it was that she saw them: the gardens of Imladris.  She had never seen so many green things, so many flowers.  Laughing, she smiled up at Elladan.  "It's beautiful!"

He let go of her hand and allowed her to run to some daffodils, opened in praise to the sun.  "They delight in Shams' glory!  Where I am from, Shams is cruel to everything.  There is no such green.  We are lucky if we get any harvest at all.  But here," her eyes almost watered at the sight, "you could feed all of Harad."

"No, I do not think so, Eruain.  You cannot eat these plants.  They're just for show."  He saw her as a little kid as she stared wide-eyed at the gardens, taken by their splendor.

"But if you can have non-edible plants, can't you also have edible?!  We could feed so many!"  It was then that jealousy hit her.  "But you, you keep fertile lands to yourselves!  You wish for Harad to perish!  You see us as corrupt as the Dark One!  Liars!"  She gathered her skirt and ran from him, but it was in vain, for he was quicker and unemotional.

His hand snaked around her upper arm, grasping it tightly enough so that she could not move away, but not so tightly that it hurt.  The anger that flared within his eyes matched hers.  "Do not think us as enemies, Haradrim.  We would provide if it was possible, but food will rot.  The House of Elrond does not see you in league with Sauron, nor are we liars."

"How can you tell me you do not see us in league with Sauron, when my own people are joining his armies?  The Dhe'b have joined and the night before I left, a foul creature of the Dark asked my father to join Sauron.  If the Af'aa joins Sauron, all of Harad will be behind my father's banner."  Her face contorted as she fought to keep back tears.  "Abi said he would never join Sauron, but he might.  Ammë said that Abi is swayed not by gold but by love.  He loves Ammë, but she lied to him.  Abi loves me, but I am now at risk.  He might see that the only way he can save me is if he joins Sauron and tries to persuade him."  Tears now came.  "It will not work.  Sauron is too powerful."

"Have you told my father this?"

"No.  But there is more important news: Sauron has found Isildur's Bane."  At her words, he fled, moving quickly and silently towards his father's room.  It was something more important than anything in the world.

"You know, many do not speak Quenya any longer," a strange, small and old man hobbled up to her.  _Eavesdropper,_ she scowled.  He wore no shoes for his feet were great in size and hairy beyond belief.  His Quenya was adequate and raspy.

Turning to him, she asked, "What do they speak then?"

"Sindarin and Silvan and Westron… a myriad of languages, young one."  He hopped up on the bench next to her, eager to relieve his joints.  He patted the spot beside him, willing her to join him.  As she sat down next to him, he smiled pleasantly, "By the way, I am Bilbo Baggins."

"Pleased to meet you, Lord Bilbo.  I am Eruain Bintsuladân."  She returned the smile and said, "If you don't mind me saying, but you do not look like an elf."

"That is because I am not, Lady Eruain.  I am a Hobbit."

"Are all Hobbits like you?"

"For the most part.  Now, Lord Elrond has told me that you do not know Sindarin.  Lord Elladan, Lord Elrohir, and Lady Arwen have all offered to teach you, but Lord Elladan and Lord Elrohir are often gone and Lady Arwen spends many a day tending to her people.  So in the off chance that all the others are busy, I am to be your teacher."

"That is kind of you, Lord Bilbo, but I do not think I should consume anyone else's time…"

"Truly, I have nothing better to do than revise my book."  His joyous face reminded her of Haraduien when they were kids.  _That boy always had a smile on his face._ "And I don't particularly wish to do that since that is all I ever do."

"Well, to spare you of that task I will be your pupil when everyone else is busy."  She saw him get up and motion her to follow his lead.  She stood, "What is it, Lord Bilbo?"

"Tea time!  You must join me for some tea.  I will tell you about all of my adventures.  I haven't told anyone in a long time, Lady Eruain, and I am sure that look in your eye tells me that you yearn for knowledge."

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

            It was much later that day that she came from Bilbo's room, eyes gleaming with the passion of knowledge and history.  Shams was behind the trees now, leaving a faint, glimmering light that brought forth from her a new love for it.  The trees were a personal heaven for her and she almost lost herself staring at their wonder.

            Leaning out the window, she brought in the smells of Lord Elrond's gardens, praising Shams for the life.  Sighing heavily, she thought back on her day and found it was filled with numerous ups and downs.  Emotions were high and loneliness soared high with it as well.  She could not stop thinking about Harad.

            As if he could read her mind, Elladan said, "It is to be expected."

            "What is," she asked incredulously.

            "Sorrow.  Homesickness."  He saw her eyes go wide and rushed to ease her bewilderment.  "Those emotions are radiating off of you.  You do not hide your emotions like elves do and I can sense them as clearly as I can hear you breathe." 

            "That is a little disturbing.  I do not wish that I was so open."  She hung her head.  "Lord Elladan, do you have no sand?"

            "There is no sand here in Imladris.  I dare say you will not find much sand anywhere, except maybe on the beaches of the West."  He leaned on the wall next to her.  "Is it something you miss?"

            "I miss the feeling of it between my toes," she admitted shyly.

            "I might have something you'd enjoy.  Come," he led her to the gardens.  As they arrived near the brook that babbled through the gardens, he took his shoes off, wiggling his toes in the grass.  "Go on take them off!"

            She pulled off her shoes and nestled her toes in the cool, damp grass.  With an urge, she dropped to her knees and put her face to it, smelling the rich aroma of the earth.  She lay down, fiddling with the blades of grass, not paying any attention to Elladan at all. 

He sat down, scanning her body.  From the description of her clothes that Lhûn and Arwen had provided, he found that he missed something good.  He had always taken an interest in the pretty ones, courting them, but always cutting off the relationships before they got too serious.  He knew that if he courted Eruain, it would not last.  And he was sorry for her if she took a notice to him.

"Lord Elladan," she breathed the earth in heavily as if it was a drug, "thank you."  Then an idea occurred to her.  "Do you swim, my lord?"  She stood, removing the outer dress, leaving just the thin, white underdress on.

"Eruain!" he shrieked at her nudity. 

"What?  I didn't take it all off!"  She started to wade in the water.

Indeed, she hadn't, but it seemed to him that she had.  Once she soaked for a bit in the water, the dress would become see-through.  "If you get that wet, it'll be like you have taken everything off!"

"Stop being a worry wart.  Get in!  Join me."  She lured him with her voice and soon he was wading, half dressed in the brook.  He only wished no one could see them.  But he could feel the disapproving stares of the guard elves and one from his father.  He was brought back by a splash in his face and a howl of laughter.  "I could never do this back home!  Water was too precious."

He grabbed her and dunked her so that the water fully engulfed her.  He brought her up, spluttering and glaring.  "What?" he asked coyly.

"I could have drowned!  I can't swim well!"  She went to pull him under, but he stayed strong under her strength.  She shrieked delightfully in defeat, and proceeded to push hard on his shoulders, only bringing her face to face with him.  His arms circled around her, holding her above the deepening water.  "What…"

He pulled her down with him, watching her shake in surprise and fear but settle in his arms.  He could not help but look at her see-through dress, cursing his indecency to look.  Coming back up, he breathed with her and grinned down upon her.  "Water is life.  But it can take it away too."

She clung closely to him, not wishing to drown in the deep water.  She was sure he could hear her blood pulse quickly and that his ears were filled with the deafening sound of her breathing.  "My lord?"  She was confused as he smelled the air in front of her and then along her neck.  "Elladan?"  She blushed.

"You smell of fragrant oil, honey, and earth.  Are these the smells of Harad?"

"Yes.  It is custom to bathe with aromatic oil, honey and water.  The earth is your garden probably."  She grinned and smelled him the same way.  She held her nose and made a disgusted face, pulling back.  "You smell gross."

"Do I now?"  He dunked her again.

It was not long after Shams had completely left the sky that they exited the brook.  They had dressed again, and were off to dry before the feast that Elrond was preparing in her name.  Elladan had told her that her arrival would be out-shadowed by her news of Sauron and the finding of Isildur's bane.  He knew the world was about to change.


	4. Ch. 3: Of Feasts, Drunkness, and Fathers

Chapter 3: Of Feasts Drunkness, and Fathers

The dress Arwen had picked out for her was a blood red, one that complimented her skin tone nicely. The daughter of Elrond had mentioned to her that the dress was that of her late mother's servant who had gone West recently. It did not bother Eruain that she was wearing hand-me-down clothes nor did it seem to matter they were from someone who was thought of as 'dead' in her mind. She carefully adorned the rich red velvet dress, sighing as the dress weighed down upon her significantly. You can't go back to wearing your old clothes. People would faint every time you passed them from your indecency, Eruain, she told herself strictly as she brushed her hair, braiding it in the fashion of the Haradrim: medium-sized braids that covered her whole head. She pulled the braids up into a ponytail and pronounced herself ready for the feast held in her honor.   
  
            Arwen was waiting at the door in a deep gray dress made of silk. She looked like any elegant princess and out shadowed Eruain in beauty. Compared to her, Eruain was a savage. She looked out of place in her dress and wished instantly she had worn her lebaas, her Haradaic dress. Looking up to meet Arwen's eyes, for Arwen was much taller than her, she spoke in quick Quenya, "I'm sorry, Lady Arwen, I cannot wear this. I cannot pretend to be who I am not." She retreated into her room, followed by Arwen.   
  
            "Eruain, what is the matter?" Arwen took back the red dress as Eruain flung it off her and onto the bed, standing proudly naked in front of the elf, who shielded her eyes from the sight.   
  
            "I am wearing my lebaas. I cannot stand your society's heavy clothing! It's so oppressive." She pulled on the underwear, turning her back to Arwen, who studied her back. The snake's tail was winding up her back and around her stomach. Arwen had seen the pattern on Eruain before, dismissing it as cloth that held her lebaas together.  
  
            "Where does the snake's tail end?" She didn't particularly want to know the answer but it was a curious thing and she could not help but ask.   
  
            Turning around, Eruain showed her. The end of the tail rested between her exposed breasts, curling slightly around the area where her heart was. "It shows that I am dedicated to my clan because my heart is attached to it." She pulled on the upper half of the underwear and the gossamer-like fabric over her whole body. "Can you get my jewelry over there? There should be ceremonial paint under the jewels."   
  
            Arwen brought all of the bracelets, anklets, rings, earrings, and necklaces over, dumping them on the bed in front of Eruain. She watched with curiosity as Eruain took the ceremonial paint and spread complex patterns on the skin of her arms, face, and right leg. Shamsa put all of her jewelry on once the paint had dried to her satisfaction. The last thing she did was wrap a sheet of gossamer about the lower half of her face and over her hair. "Done. This feels much better."   
  
            "I can't say you won't be the center of attention now that you are wearing that. Although, it suits you."   
  
            "I don't look savage?"   
  
            "No, just exotic," Arwen reassured. She strode silently to the door, holding it open for her companion. "Why the sudden decision to change though? Well other than your despise for our heavy dresses." They exited the room and started their walk to the Dining Hall.   
  
            "I want to perform a Haradaic dance for your people. It is the Dance of Shams."   
  
            "Can you do it without any music?"   
  
            "I can teach your people the melody and the rhythm." As they entered the feast, all eyes were upon them. The approving stares of Elrond and his sons were apparent but all other looks were that of either curiosity or disgust at Eruain's indecency.   
  
            The sons of Elrond stood, coming to offer their hands to Arwen and Eruain. Elladan seized hold of Eruain before his brother could. Elrohir had to settle for escorting his sister off to her place beside Elrond. Elladan pranced Eruain proudly down to where his father sat, sitting her next to him and between a silver-haired elf who seemed rather amused by her.   
  
            "Glorfindel, this is Eruain Bintsuladân, Shamsa of the Haradrim," Elladan introduced her. "Eruain, Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower." Elladan turned away to talk with his father after introducing her. She sat, shocked by Elladan's words. The stories of Elves her mother had told her when she was a children had Glorfindel as the main character many a time. She was sitting next to a legend.   
  
            Quenya flowed smoothly from his mouth like water over rounded rocks. "I can see your Istari blood, Eruain. You have your mother's eyes." She blushed at his words. It was true: her green eyes were so light they were almost gray. Her eyes had always been what men had found in her particularly alluring and she wondered if elves found that they had the same hold on them as well.   
  
            "Thank you, Lord Glorfindel." Putting her embarrassment behind her, she puckered up the courage to say, "My mother used to tell me stories of you."   
  
            "Did she? I can see Alatar glorifying me. Did you know she used to love me?" He smiled a kind smile, a smile only a father figure could pull off.   
  
            "No, I didn't! That is so, well it's not strange, but it's interesting!" The person she found attractive was also loved by her mother. Her heart sank with that thought. "Did you love her?"   
  
            "I did not. I could not love her nor could I follow her to Harad, little one. It has been a long time since I have seen her. You look almost just like her; it brings pangs to my heart." He brought a palm up to his heart and touched it lightly.   
  
            "Ammë always said I looked more like Abi than I did her, yet you say otherwise. I wonder if it is true." She smiled slightly at the thought of her Ab, but found it was far more disheartening than Glorfindel talking about her mother.   
  
            "I can see Istari and Harad in you. It is plain to my eyes that you do not fully understand the meaning behind your inheritance." He looked strangely into her eyes, but then, shook as if he was awakened from a slumber. "Lord Elrond requests to speak with you."   
  
            She turned to her side and recognized the tall figure of her host striding towards her. As she stood to give her farewells to Glorfindel, she noticed a black shadow of a person in the corner of the room, watching her. She stared at it longer and as she did her eyes started to burn. She reached a hand up to massage her hurting eye. Suddenly, a hand gently touched her shoulder. Jumping in fright she whirled around to face Elrond. Muttering a string of Haradaic curses, she turned around again to focus on the figure, but to her horror it was not there.   
  
  
            "Eruain? Is something wrong?"   
  
            "No, my lord." Still puzzled about the mysterious being, she gave the hall a quick sweep, but found nothing. I'm sure it was just an illusion. "I'm sorry. What did you say, my lord?"   
  
            "I asked if you wanted to show us the Dance of Shams. Arwen informed me that that was you desire. Do you need anything?"   
  
            "A flute or something similar."   
  
            Glorfindel stood and came closer, appearing to have had listened in on their conversation. "Alatar gave me a Duduka recently, one she had made for you, but you showed no interest." This caused Eruain to blush. "I know the melody. She wrote it down."   
  
            "Then, Lord Glorfindel, would you kindly accompany me by playing the Dance of Shams?" She bowed deeply.   
  
            "I shall, Shamsa." He took her hand and led her to the middle of the hall. The elves again turned their attention to her and the hall was quiet. Glorfindel stood off to the side and put the Duduka to his lips, starting with a long low note.   
  
            Shamsa rolled her right wrist around and brought her arm up as she did. As Glorfindel changed from pitch to pitch, she allowed her hips to roll in time with her wrist, slowly. Soon she was twisting slowly around and around, her hips kept the pace of the dance as the rest of her turned just as slowly and sensuously as her hips. As the song picked up a little, she fixed her eyes on Glorfindel, coming closer to his, winding around where he stood. She put one hand up and circled around him without touching him. Then, she left and came back to the middle of the hall. The music swelled in her ears as she picked up the pace, rolling her body quicker. And then as the song reached a crescendo, there was one quick note. As the song ended with that note, she fell to the ground and curled in on herself. With one last turn of her wrist, she stilled. Clapping resounded throughout the hall. She rose and bowed deeply to the audience and then to Glorfindel. He smiled and walked to her, taking her hand and bowing over it, kissing it lightly.   
  
            "Milady," she heard Elladan speak behind her. "The feast awaits." She left Glorfindel's side for the son of Elrond.   
  
  
  
            She never realized how good food was until she tasted the elvish meal. "Elladan," she laughed joyously, asking, "Do you have more of that bread? The soft bread?"   
  
            He smiled, nervously, and offered her the bread. Turning to his father, he sent of look of worry to him, but Elrond just chuckled in response. He was worried that Eruain was drinking too much wine. He watched her down her fourth glass of Miruvor. She shook as the drink burned its way down her throat. "Eruain..."   
  
            "What is it, Elladan? Good Shams, this is delicious." She giggled with renewed vigor and smiled widely at both Glorfindel and Elladan. "My lords, drink with me!"   
  
            "I think not, young one. You have had too much wine already," Glorfindel chided. He pulled on her hair a bit and made her look into his eyes. "No more wine for you."   
  
            "Abi..." she mumbled and struggled out of his grip. She reached for the pitcher and poured more wine. "Huzzah!"   
  
            "Glorfindel, I fear this is getting out of hand quickly..." Elladan winced as Eruain slammed down the wine and then pulled on his ears.   
  
            "I agree."   
  
            She stopped messing with the both of them and got up, raising her glass high in the air. She stumbled out into the middle of the room and every merry voice fell silent. "Elves of Imladris! I bring news from the South," she slurred. She heard Lhûn start translating what she was saying in Quenya to Sindarin.   
  
            "This can't be good..." Elladan covered his eyes.   
  
            "Three nights ago, I was courted by my closest and dearest friend, Haraduien. We wandered out into the desert and he told me something of great importance: the Dhe'b clan moved North to join Sauron's armies. That very night, we went back to my father's house and a creature of the Dark Lord came to us and asked if Af'aa clan would join his armies as well. My father denied it and the creature gave me this." She turned around, so that her back faced the Elves. She dropped the gossamer that covered her back down and exposed her back to them. "'A bloody road has been paved, the sacred war begun; no one shall be saved, when He spoils the Sun.'" She listened to the gasps that sounded. "The creature told my father this: Isildur's bane has been found." The hall erupted into chaos as Eruain laughed drunkenly. Then she collapsed.   
  
            "Eruain," both Glorfindel and Elladan were on their feet in an instance. Glorfindel got there first and picked her up. She curled lovingly into him, tugging at his robes a bit.   
  
            "Elladan, I'll take her to my chambers. There I can watch over her. Stay here and help your father." Glorfindel started towards the door, but was held back by Elladan.   
  
            "Why are you...?" Jealously was spread across his face.   
  
            "Elladan, help your father." The older elf stared him down, eyes narrowing. His voice was cold and stern. As Elladan let go of him, he felt slightly at ease. And then he was gone from the hall.   
  
X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X  
  
            As he laid her down on the bed, he could not help to notice how young she looked. Alatar had only given birth to her twenty years ago, so she was still an elfling in his eyes. He smoothed back the dark hair that had escaped from her braids and had fallen onto her face. Compelled, he undid her braids and let her dark hair flow about her on the bed. "You could have been mine," he whispered quietly. "Your skin would not be as dark and your hair might have been golden like mine. Your eyes, they would have stayed the same beautiful color. And your ears would have been perfectly pointed. You would not be wearing this paint or have those tattoos or even the scars from the Black Script on your back. You would wear decent dresses instead of hardly wearing anything at all and you would speak both Quenya and Sindarin instead of that harsh language the Haradrim speak. You would be perfect. I have unfathomable jealousy for your father, Suladân, for being able to sire such a beautiful being and for having such a wife as your mother. I wish I could have had her. I wish she didn't have to have left for Harad. I have wanted you both for so long." He put his forehead on hers, delighting in her sight, smells, sound, and feel. He wanted her to be his.   
  
  
X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

            It was past midnight when he left her. It broke his heart to take himself away from her. During her sleep, she had found him sitting on the side of the bed and had curled into his arms, seeking warmth. He loved holding her, something he had never gotten to do.   
  
            He was now walking among the gardens, where he knew she loved it most. His fingers numbly brushed against the flower petals, pollen collected on the tips of his fingers. "My Lord," he addressed Elrond as he sensed the Lord of Imladris come up behind him.   
  
            "I see that your mind still suffers from the past. You regret leaving her." Elrond stopped next to Glorfindel, putting a hand on his shoulder.   
  
            Glorfindel did not turn to the Lord of Imladris, but merely gazed at the daffodils. "She could have been my wife. Eruain could have been my daughter."   
  
            Elrond, an expert at conversing with logic, told his friend, "You do not know what would have been if you have made Alatar your wife. Sauron could have been more prominent. Anything could have been. I am not saying you should forget your love or Eruain, but I am reminding you that Alatar is out of your reach until Sauron falls. Until the evil has been destroyed, you will not be able to lay a hand on her."   
  
            "I understand, my Lord," Glorfindel spoke sorrowfully. "But I will try my best to be a father to Eruain. I think I deserve that one simple pleasure."   
  
            "Do as you will, my friend, do as you will." Elrond left Glorfindel to his mourning and decided to rest. His land was still in uproar about the news that Eruain had shared drunkenly at the feast and it would be a long day from the rising to the setting of the sun.

  
X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

  
            She awoke as the rooster crowed outside the bedroom she slept in. It had been over three years since she had started to stay in Glorfindel's chambers. She had found that he was often gone away with the twins to battle the foul creatures that plagued the surrounding lands. It was lonely without her 'father' and Elladan and Elrohir, but she managed to keep Bilbo company and Arwen was often her companion during her idle hours when she was not tending to her people.

            She rose from the bed, stretching.  Draping the light, silk robe over her shoulders, she moved out to the back courtyard that would lead her to the gates.  It had been three weeks since she last saw Glorfindel and the Sons of Elrond and they were due to be back.  It had taken her time to blend with the culture and the day to day activities of Rivendell.  She learned that horseback riding was her favorite thing to, followed closely by studying and learning from both Bilbo and Elrond.  She was now the proud owner of eighty-three books in her own private library and a stallion named Veassen.  She also could now speak adequate Sindarin.  Out of all the languages she knew, Sindarin was her favorite.  Quenya often reminded her of her mother, whom she dearly missed.

If anything, there was one particular thing she loved about Imladris: the trees.  She had become a true Wood elf, as Elrond called her, for she studied and now knew all the types of trees that grew in the gardens and in the valley of Imladris.  She could tell an oak from a maple and a juniper from a birch, and so on.  It was one small joy in her life to study such magnificent things as trees and she loved enjoying the nature.  She no longer missed the harsh, windswept sand dunes of her homeland or the prickly cacti that grew there.  Her heart loved fresh earth, wet grass, and beautiful leaves.

"Good morning," she called out to Arwen in Sindarin.  "Beautiful morning for our boys to come home to."

"Yes, Lady Eruain, it is.  Will you be joining the welcoming host at the gate?"  Arwen stood atop a bridge and looked down upon her friend.  There was not a single breeze, so she did not have to shout.

"Yes, Milady.  I am heading there now.  In fact, I might take Veassen out and meet them farther up in the valley."

"If you do, be careful.  Glorfindel would kill me and Ada if you were hurt," she chuckled.  "Good day, Lady Eruain."

"Good day, Milady."  Eruain bowed to the Evenstar and went on her way.  She rounded the corner and bumped into the old hobbit.  "Bilbo!" she hugged the little hobbit tenderly.

"My dear," Bilbo greeted in Sindarin.  "I did not expect you to be inside Rivendell today.  It's such a beautiful day.  I would have thought you would want to go to the gardens and study up a bit on all those glorious plants."  He took her offered arm and allowed her to lead him towards the stables. 

"Ah, but you see Bilbo, Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir and their troop comes back today.  I have missed them so."

"I had forgotten about that.  It seems age has started to get to me," he sighed.  Then a mischievous light appeared in his eyes, "Is there a reason you are so happy to have the troop come home, other than Glorfindel?" 

She blushed fervently and covered her face with her hand.  "You tease me, you do.  But, yes, there is another reason.  I will be able to see Elladan once more."  It was common knowledge that their friendship often over stepped the boundaries of simple friendship.  They would often swim together, horseback by themselves, take trips to the waterfall, and so on.  On a couple of occasions, Elrond had found them asleep, curled up together on a bench or in the grass.  "I'm sorry, Bilbo, I need to get going.  I hope I'll see you later."  She left him on a bench and scurried off.  The clouds were darkening and she needed to get Veassen to greet them.

She came upon the stables and quickly saddled Veassen, who neighed happily in greeting.  "Good day, Lord Veassen," she smiled and hopped up on him, urging him into a trot with her heels.  She went quickly to the gate and asked for permission to leave.  The guard opened the gate and she sped from Rivendell. 

Just as the sky opened in a downpour, a distress signal blared from an elven horn.  It sounded twice more and she galloped forth at double her speed.  Then there was an Orc horn and a more desperate elven blast.  Glorfindel and the sons of Elrond were in trouble. 


	5. Ch. 4: Too Late

Chapter 4: Too Late

The horn.  The goddamn horn, she thought.  Can no one hear it?  She galloped faster.  Where in the world are they?  She weaved in and out of the trees, tighter and quicker each time.  The horn was louder now.  She was nearing them; she could hear the screams of the foul beasts and of her friends.  "Noro lim, Veassen!" she urged her stallion forward at an almost dizzying pace as she wove between the trees she so loved.  Why has no one answered the call?  Where are our soldiers?  

Then she was upon them.  But she spied no golden hair or the tall frames of Elrond's sons.  Just three dead elves.  She slowed her horse and fell from the saddle, sliding to the ground.  Hesitantly, she crouched beside their bodies, running her right hand along their torsos.  There were arrow holes in their chests, but the arrows were missing.  Cautiously, she stood, and drew the hidden blade from Veassen's saddle.  She lowered herself to the ground once more, listening for anything that would give the enemy away.  It was dead silent.  There were no more horn blasts from either an elvish horn or of an orcish one.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

They arrived at the gate a little after the rain had started.  The guard had just changed and there was a welcoming party for them.  Elladan and Elrohir were the first off their horses, excited to finally see their friends.  Elrohir spied Arwen and beckoned her over.  "Sister!"

Arwen came and curtsied before them.  "My victorious brothers, good day."  She hugged them both.

"Hail the gracious Evenstar," Elrohir remarked. "She knows who the true protectors of her people are."

"Yes, Elrohir, I know."  She looked over to Elladan, who was looking around in the crowd.  "Elladan, what bothers you?"

"Where is Eruain?"

"I thought she rode out and met you."  Arwen hastily warded away worry, "Maybe she was stopped by someone and is still conversing with them.  I'm sure it is nothing to worry about, brother."

"I suppose so, but I'd better check with the guard."  He left swiftly for the gate.  He had made up his mind to propose to her while he was away.  He thought it was about time they faced their attraction and acted upon it.  He did not find it strange that he wanted to have children with her or that he wanted to spend eternity with her.  Elrohir had told him, when Elladan consorted him about the proposal, that Eruain was but an elfling to them.  She was only 23 when they had hundreds of years on her.

As he approached the guard, he asked, "Sentinel, did the Lady Eruain pass through these gates?"

"My lord," he bowed lowly, "I do not know.  We have only just changed guards.  Daugion was the last guard.  He's over by Glorfindel, my lord.  He should know."  Practically running over to Daugion, he was soon upon him.

"Ah, Elladan, running from your sister?"  Glorfindel chuckled.

"No, I must speak with Daugion."  Turning to the guard, he asked, "Did Lady Eruain travel outside of Rivendell to meet us?"

"Aye, my lord, she did.  Was not but a few minutes before the storm that she had left."  Confused, he commented, "Would she not have met you on road, though?"

"She should have.  But she did not meet up with us.  Do you have any idea if she came back?"

"I did not see her come.  If Megildur did not mention she came back, then she's not back."  He turned and whistled.  Nineteen soldiers came to his side.  "I can send out a search party if you want."  

 "Thank you, Daugion.  Lord Elladan and I will go ahead now.  Please follow shortly," Glorfindel took Asfaloth, who was tethered nearby, and led him by the reigns over to where Elladan was re-saddling Lainathion.  Mounting, Glorfindel sent him a worried look.  He knew about the proposal and was personally happy for his adoptive daughter and soon-to-be son-in-law, that is if she would have him.  Her being missing made him nervous.  If she was taken hostage or killed, he never would forgive himself for failing Alatar.

With a blast from a horn, they were off, passing through the gates.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

It was so quiet.  There was not a rustle of leaves on the ground.  She was too far from Rivendell to hear any movement.  She was all alone in the woodland stillness.  She could sense the impending evil and Veassen shifted nervously next to her.  There was something that wasn't right.

Then she heard it: the most bone-chilling, marrow-curdling scream.  And then the most torrid pain erupted from the script on her back.  It was as if the letters were molten lava and were burning her alive.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

   He sped his horse as fast as he could.  Who knew what dangers lurked in these woods?  Who knew what horrors she could suffer?  He could not lose her.  She was to be his bride.  She meant too much to him.  If she died, how could he go on?

Then the worse happened.  A piercing scream cut across the silence.

He looked over at Glorfindel, who yelled, "Nazgul!"  They urged their horses as fast as they could go.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

  The voice of death itself was breathed from beneath the black rider's hood.  "Eruain, bride of our Lord."  Behind it, on horses as black as night, two other riders in black sat.  "Come or face death."

 "What is it you want with me, demons?"  She tried to clamber to her feet, struggling greatly in pain.

"You will see, she-human."  The rider nudged his horse closer.  "Come, time is valuable." 

She fingered the strap on Veassen's saddle, tightening it.  "Tell me one thing, please, and I will come.  Why me?"  

"The Dark Lord chose you.  That is it."  Impatiently he drew closer.

It was in a quick second she made her decision.  Flinging the small knife in her hand, she threw it towards the riders' leader and it drove home, hitting him in the chest.  In panic, she scrambled up into Veassen's saddle and urged him into a gallop, weaving between the close knit trees.  Reaching behind her, she grabbed her most valuable thing in her possession at that moment, a horn.  Desperately she blew it, over and over and over again, hoping someone would hear it before the forest thinned and the plains opened up.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

A shrill horn sounded over the woods, followed by the outraged cries of the Nazgul.  "Towards the plains!  She's heading to the plains!"  Elladan yelled over the wind blowing in his ears.  The terrified sounds of the elvish horn tore his heart to pieces.  He could do nothing as she fled for her life against the Nazgul.  Who knew how many of them that were in the wilderness?  Who knew if she was hurt or not?

"Noro lim Lainathion!  Please!"  He felt as if the whole world was crashing about him, crushing his dreams and his hopes.  It was the most terrified he had ever felt, more scared than when his mother was taken.  "Faster!"  That horn was blown faster and faster; it was as if she did not need to breathe.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

She was now wide open on the plains.  Veassen snorted in exhaustion, but was slowed.  Eruain kept blowing the horn, even though she was dubious that someone had actually heard her.  "Keep going, Veassen, please," she begged, winded.  "You're done well already."

 She dared not to even look behind her.  She had not the heart or energy to do so.  It had even occurred to her that she should just surrender.  That all she was doing was pointless.

       

She made her decision and started to slow down.  The Nazguls screamed in delight.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X       

Their delight did not last long.  The elves had now entered the plains.  Their stronger, faster horses would easily overtake the foul steeds of the Nazgul.  One of the elves blew their horn triumphantly; alert the Nazgul and Eruain of their arrival.

"Only a little farther!"  Elladan was so close.

As the elves thundered across the plains, Elladan realized they were too late.  A fell beast descended, its large wings blocking out the trace amounts of sunlight.  They stopped as the Nazgul-like thing upon the winged beast landed and slid off of it right in front of Eruain.  Elladan was literally thirty feet from Eruain, but was forced to halt.

"Return to your woods, he-elf," the rider sneered.  He was dressed in all black, except his mouth, a hideous mouth, was unclothed.  "This is the prize for Sauron."

"Help me!  Please!"  Her eyes were wild as she struggled against the, ugly mouthed man.

"Let her go, creature of evil," Elladan spat hatefully.

"Please, let's get acquainted with one another.  I am the Mouth of Sauron.  This is his bride, Naraca.  You I assume are the son of Elrond.  You look so much like daddy.  And that is Glorfindel.  I remember you.  And then there are the other elves and the Nazgul.  Details, details."  Smacking his chapped lips, he smiled.  "This is what is going to happen.  I will take your lovely friend here.  God, she looks delicious.  She smells like a virgin, probably tastes like one too.  I digress.  So I'll take her to Mordor.  She will then be tortured, raped, and be forced to bear the heirs of the Dark Lord.  She will never see sunlight again, or feel the cool of the wet grass, or have the comfort of trees.  No, her mind will be filled of when the next torture is, living in fear for the rest of her days."  He sneered once more.  "Sad, I know, and there is nothing you can do about it."  

"Elladan, please!  Help me, Elladan!" she was almost whispering the harsh Haradaic phrases.

"Oh, shut up," the Mouth of Sauron rolled his eyes and pressed a finger against her back, receiving shrieks of pain from her.  "If you don't want her to die, turn around and go home."

 Elladan watched her, his love, his life.  He watched her shudder in pain.  Unable to take no more, he ordered.  "Go!  Back to Imladris!"

"Watch as he turns his back on you, love," the Mouth laughed whole-heartedly.  "Watch as he betrays you."  Pushing her onto the fell beast, he climbed on after and started to depart.   

     

As he felt the wind from the downward push of the beast's wings, Elladan turned his horse around and yelled as loudly as he could.  "I will stop at nothing to get you back!  I will bring you home!  And when I do!  I will make you my wife!  I love you, Eruain! Know that I love you!"       

 "This game just got more interesting," the Mouth commented to her.  But she could not think of anything else than Elladan's promise of hope.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X


	6. Ch. 5: An Untimely Arrival

Chapter 5:  An Untimely Arrival

It was a new day dawning.  As the sunlight flooded his cell, he squinted.  He had been up all night, worrying and pacing, continuously.  It had been four days since he had last seen Eruain and had not heard anything from Imladris.  But that could also be because he was detained for suspicious activities by the Steward, Lord Denethor.  Not everyone had the luxury to bypass the city guards and land in the Steward's personal garden on the back of an eagle.  And not everyone had skin as dark as his. 

            Aside from the slight racism he received within his imprisonment and from the general citizens of Minas Tirith, he quite liked the city.  He had always been fascinated about the large stone cities of the North his mother had often told him about.  He had loved the North so much he had insisted on Pallando teaching him Quenya and Westron, which was useful in negotiating with Denethor.

But there was also a sense of dread and wariness, because his father had mentioned that the white men were nothing but savages.  His Ab had said, "Listen, my child, you may come upon the pale skinned, blue-eyed, light haired ignorant demons your mother is so fond of.  Let me tell you that they condemn us.  Condemn us!  For loving Shams and for our dark skin.  They think us devils.  They think us barbarians and savages!  They think of us as primitives, as criminals, as violent, as rapists, as childlike, and as stupid!  We are not any of those.  Believe me, we have it better.  We do not sell our women off at the age of 12.  We are better.  We are not fools.  And we will not be considered lesser Men, lesser Mortals.  Do not believe the white man.  Do not trust the white man.  Do not love the white man.  For they will not believe you.  They will not trust you.  They will not love you.  Heed my words, son.  I speak the truth."

He did not have time for imprisonment.  He needed to inform the Steward.  However, Denethor was convinced that he was a spy sent from Mordor.  What else could he be with such dark skin?  What else could he be with such barbaric physiognomy?  He understood the clear racism that flowed from the mouths of the citizens of Gondor because he was a stranger and if there was a light skinned blonde-haired man in Harad then he would probably act the same.

There was a clunk of the heavy prison door shut.  "Wake up, mongrel.  Breakfast."  Haraduien looked over to the entrance of his cell.  A silver-armored guard walked in and threw a chunk of bread on the ground. 

"Do you wish for me to starve?  Is that how you treat your allies?"  Haraduien stood.  The night before he had received a hunk of bread and some cold, left over stew.

"You are no ally, Sooty.  You are of Mordor.  If my lord hadn't willed you to be kept alive, I surely would have gutted you.  I am not the only one that feels this way, you little monkey.  You do not deserve food.  You are no better than the pigs.  This slop is what you shall get.  Nothing more."  Through the iron jail wall Haraduien could see the man's hatred and disgust in his eyes.  That was the same look his Ab had when he talked about the white demons. 

Not wishing to anger the guard any farther, Haraduien said nothing in return and picked up the hard, moldy bread and bit into it.  What he would give to be back in Harad…

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

Lord Denethor sat proudly upon his throne, munching on a dinner he would have preferred eating alone with his sons.  Instead, here he was in the Hall of the King, listening once again to the Haradrim's story.  "You say that your mother provided you with the eagles to fly."

"No, my lord, it was Alatar, Eruain's mother, who provided us with eagles."  Haraduien was kneeling uncomfortably in front of the Steward.  It was the first time he had ever had to kneel before someone other than Shamsa and Malikun and the hard stone in the Hall of the King hurt his knees terribly. 

"But why come here?  Why come here unless intending to spy?"  Denethor did not trust this dark-skinned man claiming to bring him warning.  It was by the will of his adult sons.  Boromir was twenty-three and had long been Denethor's advisor.  He trusted his son for he had never led him astray.  Faramir, on the other hand, had just turned eighteen and Denethor knew he had not the political training to advise since he was the second son.  Faramir would learn eventually.  No, it was really the will of Boromir that let him hold trial for the foreigner, not Faramir.

"This is where Alatar sent me.  She said Mithrandir would be here."  Haraduien fidgeted uncomfortably on the ground.  The glare that Denethor awarded him made him wish that he had never mentioned the Grey wizard's name.

"Mithrandir?  Gandalf the Grey?!  Ha!  I would not welcome him in my city, let alone to see you."

"Father, I think that maybe we should allow him to speak with the Grey Pilgrim," Boromir mumbled.  "He's within the city walls.  He asked for access to the archives."

"Boromir!" Denethor roared.  The hall became silent.  "Who let him inside the walls?!  Who said he could come here?"

"I did, father," Boromir was meek in the face of his angry father.  From the stories Haraduien had heard, Boromir was not meek.  On the contrary he was strong and showed great leadership skills.  Where did this weak, yielding man come from?  Was it that in the face of his father he was soft-spoken and timid?  Or was it that the stories he heard were mere myths?

"Please, my lord, let me speak with Mithrandir.  He needs to have knowledge that I offer.  He needs to know that Al Mudhlim has found it.  He has found the ring!"  Haraduien stood as his voice echoed off the walls of the Hall of the King.  "Our world is doomed!  If Al Mudhlim obtains the ring, our world will fall!" 

"Kneel, heathen!  Do you not know the king when you see him?!"  An outburst from a common soldier silenced the room that was beginning to mumble about his news.

"He is not King.  Nor will he ever be.  Aragorn son of Arathorn is heir to the throne."  An old man entered, crouched.  He was garbed in humble gray robes and held a staff of wood.  "He was Thorongil and helped save your precious country.  You owe him your respect."

"Good day, Mithrandir," Haraduien bowed to the Grey Pilgrim.  His mother had told him the Gandalf's appearance. 

"Good day, lad.  You look familiar.  Do I know you?"

"You know my mother.  You know Pallando.  I am her son, Haraduien Binthaidar.  I have much to discuss with you."  Haraduien bowed once more in greeting.  It seemed strange to him that Mithrandir was not young like his mother and Alatar.  But it was something he need not dwell on as the fate of the world was to be the discussion at hand.

"Ah, Pallando.  Yes, I remember now, Alatar's friend.  Why have you come so far north?"  Gandalf walked slowly up the hall, coming ever closer to Haraduien and the Steward's family.

"I will not permit you any farther, Gandalf.  I am not King but I am Steward and I have reign over Gondor at this time.  Flee from my sight, wizard."  Denethor stood, tumbling his dinner to the floor.  He was enraged and rightfully so.  Gandalf had entered the city without his permission.  He had entered the Hall of the King uninvited.  He had insulted him and his family with talk of this _Aragorn._ And he was friends with the mother of the heathen that had previously kneeled before him. 

"My lord Denethor," Gandalf bowed his head.  "I sent for this lad to come here.  Please, let me depart with him." 

"No, he stays here.  He is my prisoner." 

"I am not your enemy, my lord."

Denethor turned to Haraduien who had been patiently silent as he and the wizard squabbled amongst themselves.  As the object of discussion, he could not stay silent for so long.  "I do not know that.  I cannot trust you.  Therefore you are an enemy."

"Father, let him be my squire.  That way he will not feel as if he is an enemy and we could keep an eye on him."

"Boromir, I do not think that is such a good idea," Denethor's youngest son whispered.  "What if he really is Sauron's spy?  He could kill you." 

"If he kills me, so be it.  I trust him to be smart enough not to try."

Haraduien gave a small smile as Boromir smirked in arrogance.  The Haradrim did not know the style in which these Gondorians fought, but the tactics the Af'aa and Asad used were known to be superior throughout Harad and the East.  That was why Suladân was Malikun and why Eruain was Shamsa and why his father, Haidar, was Amirè and why he was Qamar.  These Gondorians may have better armor made of shiny metals but they were not masters of assassination like the Haradrim.  The Af'aa were specialists in the art of the Dragon Dance, where the Asad excelled in the Dark style.  The night was the ally of the Haradrim for they won their greatest battles under the light of Qamar. 

"I would be honored," Haraduien bowed, showing respect to the Steward's son.  The faster he could gain the trust of the Stewards the closer he was to getting Eruain back.  He planned on marrying her, no matter what she said.  It was the duty of Qamar and he loved her.  Why should he not pursue her?  He knew that she would not take him at first, but the idea of having to be exiled from Harad forever would led her to wanting Harad.  And who better to exemplify Harad than a Haradrim?

Before speaking, Denethor cleared his throat.  "Boromir, to take this man as your squire means you would be possibly risking your life.  Are you prepared for that?"

"I have fought against orcs before, father.  I do not think a Haradrim would be too deadly."   Haraduien had to stifle his laughter.  "If anything I might need to train him to fight."  _Boromir is as racist as his father and all of Gondor…_  


	7. Ch. 6: Of Men, Fire, and the Sun

Chapter 6: Of Men, Fire. and the Sun

The flight was a two day trip, for they had to stop for the necessities of the human girl.  She needed sleep and food and had to relieve herself more than once a day.  The task was getting perilous for them.  She would not cooperate and would often times scream when she heard movement in the forests when they stopped.  She was not worth taking back to Minas Morgul, not for Annatar.  The Shell of Sauron was unlikable and did not deserve the delicious woman.  I would make her mine, the Mouth of Sauron thought with lust.

He was now escorting the human into the depths of Minas Morgul, the lair of the Nazgul and of Annatar.  He was not surprised when the Witch-King and Annatar were waiting for them at the bottom the Green Tower.  "Hail Annatar, Shell of Sauron.  Hail the Witch-King of Angmar.  The Lords of Minas Morgul," the Mouth bowed deeply.  Realizing, Eruain did not bow before them, he pulled her down sharply.  "Kneel, you little…"

Annatar was suddenly before them.  "Do not force her to kneel.  She is, oh, how do you say it in Haradaic…"  He looked over to her with a searching glance, his Quenya ringing delightfully in her ears.  "Malika?  She is my Malika." 

"Malika?" Eruain asked.  "I am not Malika of anything, my lord.  Not anymore."  Eruain was not afraid and it was strange.  Most would tremble under the gazes of the Nazgul. 

"You will be Malika over all of Middle Earth, my bride.  Once the Ring is found, of course."  Annatar held her chin and gave her a once over.  "Oh, you are a beautiful one, my dear."

"Thank you, my lord," Eruain smiled.  "Your home is very unusual.  It seems unlivable."

"You need not worry.  Our room is much, much different than this.  It has a roaring fire, a huge bed, a library, and even a play room."  He smirked at his deceit. 

The Mouth smiled in knowing as well.  That play room of Annatar's was a torture room.  He knew the Shell had a plan to torture this whelp, and it was going to be delightful to torture her.  That delicious smooth skin of hers ripping open to expose rivers of blood.  It was almost too sinful for him to think about.  He shivered in pleasure. 

"I expect payment," the Mouth hissed. 

"You will receive none.  You have done this on the whim of Sauron, not of me.  I will not pay you for I did not ask for her.  But it is the will of Sauron and so I will keep her."  He pulled her against him.  He always had this hypnotizing air about him, the Mouth thought; it was as if Eruain was under some spell.  "She is not ugly like others I have received."

"Fine, keep her.  I will be leaving for the Gates.  Do you have any messages for the Dark Lord?"  It was his job as the messenger to deliver the needs and wants of Sauron's minions to him.  Such a tiresome job it was.

"Tell him I am gracious he bestowed such a woman upon me.  And that I am starting to torture the creature Gollum."

"I will pass this on."  The Mouth mounted his fell beast and was off, leaving the human all alone in the City of the Nazgul.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

            "Tell me your name, woman," Annatar smiled as they took dinner in a large hall lit by a giant hearth. 

            "Eruain.  Eruain Bintsuladân.  What is yours, my lord?"  She was not used to eating so much meat, as it was uncommon in Imladris to be so carnivorous.  Yet, she tasted the pheasant, rabbit, deer, and quail and had some bread and carrots.

            He ate nothing and had spoken little.  He drank wine from a goblet and stared intensely at either her or the fire.  As he gazed into the flames, he said, "It is Annatar.  I am lord of Minas Morgul." 

            "Why am I here?"  Still she was not scared.  It was something of a mystery to her.  She knew in her heart she should be but she felt calm in his presence and in the dark tower.  She was curious, not frightened.  And he knew this and intended to break her.

            "You were chosen to be the Naraca, mother of the Children of the Dark.  It is a great honor, my lady.  You should be happy to offer your body to the Dark Lord."  He smirked.  "And it will be my pleasure to impregnate you, Naraca."  He laid a hand on her arm, whispering, "I'm sure you will make a fine bride even though you are a virgin."  She felt his fingers leave her arm and run through her hair and across her cheek, lingering.  "A fine bride indeed."

            "My lord," mumbling, she turned her head away from his hand.  "I cannot.  A Haradrim must never lay with a man who is not Shamsborn.  Shamsa can only lay with Qamar, Malikun, or the Malikun Ameeri." 

            His eyes slid close and she felt a hand on her arm grip tight.  "You are no longer Shamsa.  You are Naraca."  He pulled her up and dragged her to the hearth.  Forcing her to kneel, he pressed her face close to the eager flames.  "Look into the fire.  It burns from the lava from Orodruin, from where the Ring was forged.  Can you feel the hatred that burns with the flames?  Can you feel the malevolence?  If you are not cooperative, you will meet Orodruin and join your beloved Shams in the sky.  But remember this, there are many who love you and it would break their hearts to hear of your death.  Be wary, my love, I do not take disobedience lightly." 

            She was relieved when he pulled her away from the fire.  Inhaling she asked softly, "I thought I was special to you, a prize of sorts.  That is what my father said."

He laughed, choking on some of the wine he drank.  "Special?  Ha!  You are no prize.  You hold no safety here.  You are but a slave, a dirty little whore.  I am not obliged to treat you well, seeing as there as hundreds of other slave girls down in the bowels of the tower.  You mean nothing.  You were picked out because of your connection with Suladân.  You are a gift because I captured Gollum, nothing more.  You put yourself higher than you really are.  Here you are nothing but a savage and a slut."  He held her for a moment before he released her, departing.  "Finish eating.  At sundown, we consummate our marriage."  He did not turn around, but he could feel her fear starting to sink in, his powers of hypnosis were fading.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X  

"Onnedhiel," he spoke in Quenya while he watched her sew in the dark corner of his room.

"Yes, Lord Annatar?"  The elf was blonde like her master but it curled more than his.  She was not as old as him, but could not remember her true age.  Having been his maid for more than three millennia, she knew what he wanted, for he had a new, young virgin as his wife.

"Teach her the ways of lovemaking before she comes to me tonight."

"Yes, my lord."

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

               

"Aiya Naraca."  Onnedhiel entered without a knock.  The flames reflected off her glistening hair and lit her light skin that had not seen sun for over two millennia.   Eruain turned at her greeting, recognizing the soft spoken Quenya.  The beautiful elf maiden looked very close in appearance to Annatar, sharing the same structural facial features.  "I am here to teach you."

It was clear to the elf that Eruain was scared.  Her body shook and she was crying softly.  "Dear Naraca.  It will not be so bad to lie with the lord.  He is a kind lover and will not leave you wanting.  He is gentle and wishes to satisfy you.  It will not be so bad," she cooed once more, enveloping the shaking woman.  "It will hurt only for a moment, dear."

"Why is it me?  Why am I to be Naraca?"  The tremor in her voice was caused by her overwhelming shivering.  Clutching to Onnedhiel as if the elf were her own mother, she started to weep loudly once more. 

"Hush, little one, you frighten too easily.  Lord Annatar is the least of your worry.  You have yet to encounter the Masked Man."  She felt Eruain shy away from her, clinging to her own body for support.  Onnedhiel knew that the human did not wish to hear such words, but it was the truth.  The elf was sure that the knowledge she was passing on would be better to know before the night came.

"Who is the Masked Man?"

"He will come for you at night, within your dreams.  You will be sleeping and he is the Dream Thief.  He will torture and rape you.  I am sorry, but the Masked Man is not someone you can escape from.  He will find you." 

"What if I do not sleep?"  The human sounded serious.  But mortals needed sleep.

"And how long do you think you could function without sleep?  You are no elf."  The elf rose and crossed the room, pouring herself a glass of water from the pitcher that rested on the vanity.  "Anyways, all the dinner food made for prisoners in Minas Morgul is made with a tasteless herb that induces deep sleep five hours after it is consumed in case some protest to sleeping."  Sighing, she drank.  "Please, let us not talk of the horror of the Dream Thief.  Let us practice for your wedding night.  Do you know what will happen?"

Blushing, the Haradrim mumbled, "Of course I do."  Her mother had educated her long before her eighteenth birthday.  As Eruain had grown into a young adult, Alatar had forced her to learn the difference between rape and lovemaking.  Suladân on the other hand would not let her be alone with a man unless it was Haraduien, whom he had promised his daughter to. 

"How do the Haradrim do it?"  The elf drank more of the water.  "Like dogs?  Or do you face each other?"    

"Women may not look upon the face of a man during lovemaking.  It doesn't matter though," she held her hand out and studied her veins.  The same blood flowed within them that had flowed within her father's.  She was a Haradrim.  She was Shamsa.  "I cannot submit to him.  It would spoil the Sun."

The elf scoffed.  "One cannot spoil the Sun.  It was made by Eru Ilúvatar for us, so we are able to see.  Do not be so daft, Naraca."

"That is where you are wrong, elf…  The Sun was not given to us.  We stole it."  She cleared her throat.  How many times had she told this history?  It was Shamsa's duty to educate her people in their religion.  This time it would be no different.  "In the days of old, humans were not the Malikuns of the world and did not hunt animals. Animals were the Malikuns and hunted the humans. They killed all the people except one girl and her brother. They hid in a cave, deep within the desert. The boy learned to kill the Asad with a bow and arrow and made a robe from their manes. The girl made them soup from the bodies of the Asad and that was the first time people ate meat.

"One day, Shams ruined the robe and the boy swore revenge. His sister helped him fashion a snare. He traveled to the hole in the ground where the Sun rises every morning. As the Sun rose, he snared it and tied it up so that there was no light or warmth that day. The animals were afraid, so they sent the biggest and most fearsome animal to try and free the sun. This was the mouse, which in those days was as big as a mountain. The mouse tried to chew through the snare freeing the sun but the intense heat shrunk him down to his present size. Since that time the people have been the Malikuns and the hunters, rulers and conquerors of Shams."

As she considered what to say, Onnedhiel stood and went to the door, turning slightly in the doorway to give her one last piece of advice.  "Your naïveté about the world, about everything, is astounding.  And I cannot wait for the day when your Sun comes tumbling down."  And then she was departed.

Eruain drew her knees to her chest and whispered quietly, soothingly, "I must forsake you Shams.  I am sorry.  I am sorry."  She repeated this over and over again.  It was her prayer as Annatar entered the room.  It was her confidence as he stripped them of their clothes.  It was her escape as he entered her, rough and hurried.  It was her safeguard as he finished inside of her, rolling off of her and dressing.  It was her prayer.  It was her prayer, that forsaking of Shams, which had blurred her mind and memory.  But that prayer, that forsaking, that escape, could not help her as sleep seized her and the Masked Man came.   


	8. Ch. 7: Trickling Hope and Hallowed Children

Chapter 7: Trickling Hope and Hallowed Children

She clutched at her mount's neck, holding close as the wind flapped about her.  The ride was swift but time was not to be wasted and she felt as if it had been.  How long had it been?  Two, three days?  Maybe more.  Time had seemed to stop, but maybe it just went by too fast for her to notice.  That is what Death does, she thought, it numbs you. 

It was not long before she arrived in Imladris, dull and unresponsive to the calls of the Elven guard.  "Who are you?"  She spoke not a word.  She dismounted, stumbling to the ground.  With a pat on her mount's leg, she released him, watching with slight dismay at his parting.  "Stand and show yourself!" 

Struggling, she stood only to become faint.  What was happening? 

"Who are you?" they demanded.  There were three of them; their metal gauntlets reflected the sun in a dizzying manner.  She passed a hand over her eyes and spoke in a soft voice. 

"I am Alatar, wife of Suladân, mother of the Shamsa.  I wish to have council with the Lord of Imladris."  It was then her body chose to give up after many sleepless days.  It was just dark, just so very dark. 

"…just like your daughter, Alatar," the bleary voice of Elrond pierced the silence that swam about in her head.  Everything felt dizzying, swirling continuously.

When she could finally find her voice, she whispered, "What are you talking about?"  Her eyes opened slowly, the blue irises quickly finding his own dark ones.  She regarded him curiously, her eyebrows drawn together, before she decided it was him, giving him a weak smile.  "My lord."

"The lovely Eruain was laying here, much like you, about three years ago."  He moved his hand from its spot on the bed to his lap, ushering a sigh out.  It would break his heart to tell her that Eruain was abducted not even a fortnight before Alatar's arrival.  So much had to be told to her and so much time had been lost. 

That peeked her interest.  The thought of seeing her daughter again was tantalizing and she had almost forgotten about what happened back in Harad.  "Where is she?  Where is Eruain?"

Elrond hesitated.  Before speaking, he helped her sit up, which she was struggling slightly at.  "Alatar, I'm sorry.  She's gone."  The sadness in his eyes was only an ounce of what she felt as he told her, "Annatar's servants, the Nazgul, took her.  My sons did the best they could to save her, but she was already in the hands of the Dark ones."

"You let her be taken?!  She's all but dead!  What if she was yours?!  What would you feel like if she was your child?"  She wailed, fits of tears intermittently broke her voice. 

"My son, Elladan, wished to pledge his life to her.  He wanted to spend eternity with her.  She was like my own.  Do not tell me I cannot sympathize with you.  I love her like I would Arwen."  Elrond stood, his head turning towards the window.  A shadow stood, silent and patient.  "Come into the light, my friend.  She may not wish to see you, but you need to be here for this discussion.  You too, my son.  I know you are eavesdropping outside the door.  Come here."

Elladan and Glorfindel appeared from their respective hiding places.  They came and bowed to Elrond and then took their places standing beside him.  "Milady," Elladan acknowledged with a nod.

"Alatar –" Glorfindel started before she cut him off. 

"I do not want him here.  I do not welcome his presence." 

"It matters not," Elrond explained, "He acted the role of guardian and father to your daughter while she was here.  He holds partial responsibility for your daughter's disappearance." 

"I knew you had a hand in this.  You betrayed me once.  It is no different now."

"Has my hold over your heart changed into harshness that is equated to the hatred that lives in the very depths of Udûn?  Or is it you fear what your heart still feels?"

"We will not talk about our distant past.  I do not wish to hear it!  You will tell me about Eruain.  You will tell me how you let her slip through your fingers like you would water."  She furiously looked away from him, into the distant night.  Wishing that Eruain was yet alive and that she was safe was a fool's wish, but a wish that only she could hold onto.  It would keep her sane. 

"We were coming back from a mission.  From the borders of Mirkwood."  It was Elladan who took the lead.  "From what I gathered, she left Rivendell to come meet us on the road.  Something drew her away from the path, something even my elf ears and eyes could not hear or see.  We passed by each other, not even noticing.  When I found she had come to find us and had not, I organized the search party.  We went as fast as we could, but it was too late.  We arrived only a little behind her.  She was already in the clutches of the Mouth."

Alatar turned her gaze on Glorfindel again, holding him responsible.  "You let that thing take her!  My daughter!  And you pretend that she is your daughter!  A real father would stop at nothing to get her back!"

Glorfindel snatched her arm quickly and pulled down the sleeve.  "A real father would not abuse a child's mother."  Anger flowed like lava, seeping into her core.  She yanked her arm away; Suladân had not made the marks.

"It was not Suladân," she whispered, "but Pallando."

"What happened?" Elrond sat once again.  He had _seen_ turmoil explode in the South, but what from?

"He told me to run.  I didn't though, at least, not quickly enough.  They found out that Pallando was an enemy before me; I do not know the exact details about how they did, though.  They drug her screaming away from me.  She grasped so tightly to my arm, it was her last touch.  I did nothing."  She closed her eyes in pain.  How could she have done that?  "They came for me and tied me to a pole.  I had to watch as they tortured her.  I can still see every arc of the whip and watch the glass and pottery pieces tied to it rip through her skin.  They shaved her head and made shallow cuts all over her face.  At least seventeen men raped her.  She bled and bled.  But that's not the worse part.  They…" Fierce sobs consumed her.

"You don't have to say any more," Elrond lied.  Truthfully, he needed to know what happened.  It would be better to know.

She regained some stability, some control, and started again.  "They tied ropes around her wrists and ankles."  Her hands weakly circled around her wrists, mimicking the motions of wrapping rope around them.  "They attached the rope to the saddles of the horses we kept."  Threatening to cry again, she grasped Elrond's hand and clenched tightly.  "They took one of the children, a little Haradrim, maybe no older than six and told me that if I didn't give the order for the horses to gallop they would kill the child." 

Some thought, a foreign thought, appeared inside Elrond's mind.  It did not seem like his own.  Was Eru Ilúvatar communicating with him?    _She holds the lives of children more hallowed than anything._

"I couldn't let him die.  I couldn't let the child die.  I couldn't; he was innocent," she mumbled.  Incoherent thoughts spilled from her mouth and they watched her succumb to terror and guilt.  "I gave the order."  She gagged a little and tried with all her might not to vomit.  "I screamed 'Lerkud'."  She broke down again.  "The horses bolted.  Her scream, it echoes, it never stops.  Her limbs were ripped off, blood everywhere."  As if she was drowning, her breaths became short and shallow.  Shuddering, she whispered, "And they bathed me in her blood."

Glorfindel, who had been pacing, stopped and stood the farthest away from her.  He could no longer help her.  She didn't want him.  "How did you manage to escape?"

"I didn't, at least not at first," was the weak reply.  She struggled to regain composure and when she did, she continued.  "They told me to run.  That I had an hour to navigate my way out of the village and surround desert before they came for me.  Fortunately, the eagle I had called came and was waiting at an oasis.  I cleaned off her blood, mounted and didn't stop running."

They did not say a word, but let her sob.  They couldn't imagine how she felt.  Couldn't fathom that she never that her face was the last face that Pallando ever saw.  To give that order.  To be drowned in her blood.  When was the world ever going to stop being terrible?  Was terrible even a word they could use?  Was it such an understatement? 

"Suladân is Sauron's ally."  This whisper was what shattered the world.          

And it also vibrated within Gondor.

Dear Haraduien,

I cannot start this letter with words that can express what I feel and I know they won't do it justice.  But please, I wish to inquire that you are in good health and you have found Gondor tolerable.

I am writing to you from Imladris, or you might know it as Rivendell.  The person delivering this letter has my utmost trust and will not harm you or my mission.  Which brings me to the reasons why I am writing you: to explain our mission, Eruain, and the situation in Harad.

A long time ago, your mother and I were charged with the task of espionage.  We were to spy on Sauron.  For all the years I lived in Harad, this is what I did.  Eruain helped me with these tasks.  You mother probably did not tell you the entirety of our mission, but I expect you would have figured it out.

I am sorry.

How many times can I say it so that it gains meaning?  Each time I pen it, it just doesn't express my sorrow or grief.

Your mother is dead.  I gave the death sentence myself.  The Haradrim whipped her, raped her, shaved her head, and cut her face.  They tied ropes to her limbs and attached them to the saddles of four horses.  And brought a child to me.  They said if I did not give the order for the horses to run, they would kill the child.  He was innocent.  I gave the order and her limbs were ripped from her body.  They bathed me in her blood and told me to run.  And I did.

My heart has shrunken, my soul cold.  With the passing of your mother, I have died several times over, shivering into the dead of night with not a thought but a mural of vivid memories of her murder. 

I am sorry.

Eruain may be dead.  The Shell of Sauron has taken Eruain as his bride.  From Elrond's foresight, we have come to understand that she has conceived a child by him.  We fear her mind is being polluted.

There is no hope.

Suladân has allied with Sauron.

-Alatar.


	9. Ch. 8:Reality, Dreams; Death, it seems.

Chapter 8:Reality, Dreams; Death, it seems.

It was the second day.

"Naraca," he whispered hot lusty nothings in her ear as he forced himself in and out of her.  It was worse this time.  She was not distracted.  She could hear herself moan in despite of her own brain schooling her to be unresponsive.  She didn't want to be his play thing.  He was not Shams-born, but her body acted by itself.

Deciding her mind was wrong and that it would be better to just follow her body, she called out his name loudly as he hit a particularly sweet spot.  "Annatar!"  He smirked against her neck that he found deliciously tasty.  He bit down a few times, but immediately licked his made wounds in apology.  Faster, slower, harder, softer.  Her lovemaking knew no bounds with him.  It was their fourth time that day.

He pulled out and flipped her onto her stomach.  Entering her from behind, he had the opportunity to fondle her in different ways.  His left hand was on her hip and his right migrated between her breasts and nether area.  His fingers were deft and quick.  His set pace was faster and harder than she had anticipated and soon she was screaming from pleasure and pain.  Tightening around him in a haze of ecstasy, she released and he followed not too long after.

"Onnedhiel says I beget a child soon," was the whisper that came from her mouth. 

He smirked and ran a hand down her spine.  "Of course, of course.  Especially if I ride you more than once a day."  Her vertebrae felt the hard pressure of his fingers as he bruised her backbone.

Moaning in pain, she murmured, "It hurts."

"What was that?"  He flipped her over and bit the skin around her bellybutton while he began to finger her.  Gasping, her hands found his scalp and clawed at it in desperation.  The pain, the pain, there was no pleasure. 

"Stop!  Please," she screamed as he drew blood from her stomach.  "Stop it!"  The commands were now shrieked in Haradaic.  "Khalass!  Khalass!"  

He pulled up and bared his blood-spattered teeth.  The blood dripped from his mouth and it spilled from her stomach, bubbling down onto the bed.  He fingers didn't stop though, but went faster.  He was pumping in and out at a dizzying pace.  She felt herself contract again and screamed his name.  As she came down from her second high, he kissed her as she tried to curl around him.  "No."  He moved away from her, leaving her naked on the bed.  Locking a shackle around her wrists, he whispered hotly, "Sweet dreams, love."

"Khalass," she murmured over and over again.  Finally sleep claimed her.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

It was as if she awoke from a dream, but entered into a nightmare.  The room was gray and foggy.  The lights were dim and an eerie green light was emitted from them.  She was chained, that she knew, but everything else was different.  In the corner, across from her, there were three hooded figures also chained up.  They were whimpering as if they had been struck only mere minutes before hand. 

"Hello," her voice broke.

Their moaning and whimpering increased as if frightened.  "Who are you?"  The harshness of her voice hurt in ways it shouldn't.  "Why are you here?"

"To be judged."  The Masked Man entered.  "Hello, dear."  He ran a hand down her face, which she tried to avoid as if it was poison.  His mask was two colors: green and black.  It was split down the middle.  The right half was black with a green star and the left half was green with the left side of the lips black.  From his long tied back black hair hung bones of babies he said he had devoured.  He was thin and wore black robes.  He called himself Death. 

"Oh, Naraca.  You loved to be pleasured by Annatar.  Why shy away from me?  I have done nothing to you."  His fingers found her bellybutton and brought forth a waterfall of blood from it.  "I did not do this to you."

She had decided that speaking to him was more detestable than looking at him.  She just stared and stared. 

Searching her face, he made his decision.  "So… to my game, oh yes," he spoke to himself.  Rising in excitement, he leaned in close to her face, breathing on her.  "You pick one, that one dies, the other two live.  Here's the catch, though.  Always a catch, love.  Two have committed a sin, done something to deserve death, but you won't know until you've picked and you cannot re-choose.  I will tell you what they've done and which one was innocent.  So, pick one."

"What will happen to the one I pick?  How will they die?" 

"I will release you and give you a weapon, but something fun like a blunt object, and you can just bludgeon them to death."  He sighed in delight.  "Hurry!  Choose!"

She couldn't tell if they were men, women, Haradrim, Orcs, Westerners, Dwarves, Elves, Hobbits.  She couldn't tell if they were young or old, married or single, had family or not.  She couldn't tell what they did.  Any of them could be the innocent one.  She couldn't kill them.

"I can't."

"You can and you will.  If not, I will torture your lover.  What's the little elf prince's name?  Elladan.  I will take his dreams and force you or him to watch as I torture either of you.  What will it be?  Do you treasure him over these people?  What about your mother or father?  Haraduien?  Elrond?  Bilbo?  Glorfindel?  Who would you sacrifice to save a stranger's life?"

"No one.  I can't, though…  I wouldn't have my family… I'll kill," she whispered decisively.  Her family, her friends, they were too important to loose in a dream.  It was just a dream.  These people wouldn't actually die.  They would live.  This was just a nightmare of hers that was meant to pollute her mind or torture her.  Nothing really would happen.

"Your choice, love?"

"The middle one."  She was let down and given a small awl.  "I don't get to see their face?" 

"Why would you want to see?"  The Dream Thief's face never changed, but something in his voice told her that he was a little surprised if not disturbed by her question. 

"I want to see the faces of the ones I kill.  And I want them to see me.  This way I can atone later.  It is the Way of Honor that the Af'aa practices.  Let me do this.  Please."  She spun the awl around in her hand.  They were just figments of a nightmare.  Even if I kill them, nothing will happen.  It's just another bad dream.

"Go ahead." 

She kneeled and took off the prisoner's cowl.  It was a man about forty with light brown hair, dark eyes and a ruddy complexion.  His skin suggested years in open fields and his wrinkles dug deep.  His face was expressionless.  What had he done?  Or was he the innocent one? 

He stared not at her, but at the Masked Man.  Whispering, he said something in a language and accent she couldn't quite understand, but she made the effort to comfort him.  He was a Kharoof for slaughter the way she now saw it.  A helpless animal.  In Quenya she whispered nothings,"Áni apsenë.  Nwalyan len.  Nai anar caluva tielyanna.  Mára estë."  Taking his head in her hands, she delicately pushed him into a prone position so that his head was turn to the side.  He did not whimper or cry as she put the cold tip of the awl against his temple.  Breathing in, she raised her hands above her head.  As she brought the awl down, hard, she murmured, "Nai yaryuvalyë estë sambassë Mandosto."  Blood exploded over her hands and front.  "Just a Kharoof, Eruain.  He was just a Kharoof."  His death sigh was inaudible but she could feel the last of his breath on her hand that covered his mouth.  Shams light that lived within each person's eyes had grown dark in his and she knew the job was finished.

"That came more naturally to you than I had thought.  I was hoping I could get off by watching you bludgeon and stab him.  Next time I'll just have to give you a book or something like that."  The Masked Man stood.  He came to her and led her back to her chains.  Shackling her again, he went to the other two hooded figures and tore off their hoods.  There was a dark haired woman and a blonde elf.  He returned to her side and tied a cloth over her eyes before pressing his mouth to hers in a desperate kiss.  She was relieved the mask was off, but perturbed by the fact she couldn't see the Dream Thief's face.  She wanted to know who to hate.

She tossed her head from side to side, trying to break the kiss.  Finally she broke free and hissed, "Tell me which one, bastard.  Tell me which on is innocent!"  

"Oh," he was surprised again, "I thought you liked kisses, sweetie."  He had put on his mask again before he ripped off the blindfold.  "So, moment of truth.  The woman, incest.  So, she's dead."  He pointed at her and her head exploded splattering them with brains, blood, and bone.  "Delicious, no?"  He rolled his eyes at her disgusted face.  "The he-elf, hmm?  Can you guess?"

"Tell me," she commanded harshly.

"He is innocent."

"What did that man do?"

"Raped his daughter.  You did the world a favor, Naraca.  He is gone forever."  This was the news he loved, the one he knew she couldn't believe.

"They can't be dead to the world like they are in my dream.  It's not possible.  It's a dream, nothing real happens in a dream," she whispered.

He cackled.  "But it's not a dream, sweetheart.  Nor a nightmare.  More like a Nether world, in which I am god and people die and get hurt and can conceive."  He forced himself upon her.  

Here in his world, she was a puppet, a game piece.  She could do nothing to stop him from killing people.  Or was it that she killed them?  The pieces of the nightmare swirled and she was awoken to the sound of Onnedhiel's voice.  "It's been three weeks since you last awoke and since your bleeding, Naraca.  Your cycle has not come.  You are with child, milady."  

Looking over weakly, she saw Annatar sitting in a chair.  Smiling at him, she reached out.  He was real.  He loved her.  Love?  No, he did not love her, but he had given her something to love and to receive love in return.  And for a moment as she looked at him, he became the Masked Man.  And the voice was his and the Dream Thief's, "It has to be a son.  If it is not, Alatar dies."

A baby girl, my mother is dead.  A baby boy, she lives.  How did it come to this?  Why was I chosen?


	10. Chapter 9:  The Dark Places

Chapter 9

How long had she been asleep?  She didn't know.  She awoke with the cool touch of fingertips on her bare shoulder.  She opened her eyes to see the long blonde hair of a man she once loved.  Almost as venomously as the Af'aa that were notorious killers in Harad, she whispered, "Go away."

"Alatar, you've been here for hours.  Go to your room get some sleep."  Glorfindel picked up a book that had fallen from her hands.  "The Silmarillion.  Do you not know all about this history of our world?"

"Why do you never listen to me?  And no, there is something dark tugging on my mind.  I intended to research it."  Alatar stood her full height, standing only a little shorter than Glorfindel.  She put a hand on his shoulder, just as he had done to awaken her.  "You are no less weary than I.  You need rest as well."  She could tell with just a touch.  She was The Healer, a title she had intended to pass to Eruain.  Her daughter had already started to show signs of potential, something her other children had none of.  Eruain, she knew, had some preordained purpose for her potential just as the fires stirred in Mordor.  This was what they had been waiting for since her mission began.  A time for her knowledge and skills to prosper, if only she knew the time to use them.       

"You know we Elves have little use for sleep.  It is not something we require.  I will only gain rest when I see Eruain to safety once more.  I will not stop pursuing her rescue."  Glorfindel turned from her to the dim twilight that covered Imladris.  The rich purples were something to delight in; something Eruain loved so, as they kissed the dark forest of grass below it.  The shimmering lanterns of the sailing elves dotted the wooded valley.  Abandonment was the hurt welling up inside of him as he watched them go.  A pang of guilt swiftly followed for he had no knowledge of the immense abandonment Eruain must feel in the callous and vicious hands of the enemy.

Alatar stubbornly put her hurt and angered emotions aside as she pulled him close.  All of her negative feelings toward him were quieted as he enveloped her in an embrace they were vaguely familiar with.  The act of love was not overlooked by the eavesdropper just outside the window in the large oak.  Arwen cried softly to herself from within the branches.  Although she knew Alatar could not sense the intense depression radiating from Glorfindel, she could.  Eruain, the center of their reunion, weighed deeply upon them.  She was what drove every action taken by Alatar and every action taken by Glorfindel.  She was their daughter, the one Glorfindel had failed.  These emotions that drove them together in a blinding lust for seeking Eruain's safety were something she and Aragorn would never share.  Their love never as powerful as this extremely aged couple who knew exactly what the other needed.  Arwen would never be as close to Aragorn as Alatar was to Glorfindel.  Though the wizard and elf had spent most of their lives upon Arda separately, they were inconceivably linked.  And it was something Arwen gluttonously desired. 

In unspeakable desperation, she fled from the tree, falling gracefully to the ground.  This act was not unknown to Elladan, Elrohir, and Elrond who watched both parties from the Gardens of Imladris.  Muttering quietly to themselves they made a decision.

"Ada, I wish to venture to Lothlórien.  I have need of the Lady of the Wood's mirror," Elladan did not turn from the soft, endearing scene of the aged lovers who had found solace in their embrace and the other's lips. 

"Of course, Iôn, I understand."  It was then Eruain's rescue started and Elrond could see that it would take too long.

The next day the sons of Elrond were departed and had taken their sister, the Evenstar, with them.  The whole of Imladris were there to see them off.  Songs of well-wishing and safe travels echoed throughout the valley.  The last lingering glimpse of Arwen fell upon Elrond.  It was a journey she never wished to embark upon, nor did she wish to leave her people.

As he had awoken her, he had held to tight as he mumbled words about her safety and a vision he had had concerning her place near Galadriel.  As he had thought, she was completely uncooperative in wishing to leave Imladris, but had obeyed her father's wishes and packed for the long month's journey to the Golden Wood.  Elrond, now, felt horribly alone.  His wife was beyond the sea, his children were venturing off into the wild and he held no control over anything.

Turning swiftly to Alatar as they entered the library after the departure of his children, he commanded, "Summon Olórin.  We need his council."

"What for, Lord Elrond?"  Alatar and Glorfindel were standing quite far away from each other, as if they were still angry with each other.   They were fooling no one.  Elrond could sense the tension between their bodies, the need to hold the other shone on their faces. 

"Mithrandir will have information about Isildur's Bane."

"How would he know?"  Alatar was somewhat wounded by the fact that Olórin would have information about the Ring.  He had been the least helpful of the Istari and Alatar had no idea why he had been sent to complete the mission with them. 

"He had been watching the creature Gollum."

_"Had_ _been watching?"  Glorfindel was surprised the Mithrandir had let Gollum escape_. 

"He delivered Gollum to Mirkwood and it was their guard that let Gollum slip away into the night."  Elrond sat in one of the chairs, his age was becoming fatiguing.  This whole ordeal, predestined, was especially tiring.  He never thought that the Ring would make another appearance in his lifetime.  He had thought that maybe it was lost in the recesses of the world, but no, it had been found again.  Why had it all happened this way?  "Please, just summon him, Alatar."

"Of course, Lord Elrond."  She left.

Elrond closed his eyes and whispered, "War is coming."

****  
  


X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

  "Haraduien," she whispered, tossing and turning on her bed.  Her eyes slid open slowly, taking in the dark surroundings.  It was Annatar's idea to keep her in the dark, so she would be more accepting of sleep and so she didn't know what day it was.  It was a dungeon, one filled with luxuries such as a large bed, a bookshelf, a side bathroom and other such necessities.  She never had any visitors now that she was with child.  Annatar never came to her.  Onnedhiel only came once a week, maybe a little more.  No her constant visitor was the Masked Man.  Now, he was constantly with her.  He was not only in her dreams but in her room, speaking nonsense and deep things to her.  He, as he proclaimed, was her lover, the father of her child.  He'd sing to her, read to her, love her. 

"You should not speak that name in front of me, Naraca."  He was the only one to consistently call her 'Naraca'.  "But I forgive you, sweetheart," he kissed her on the forehead.

"Please, I did not mean it," she moaned as he took her hand.  Even though he had 'forgiven' her, he did not want her to forget her transgression.  Taking a knife, he cut a line across her left thumb, shallow but right on her knuckle.  "I'm sorry.  I won't do it again," she spoke around the cut on her thumb that she had thrust into her mouth.

"I love you so much, dear," he stroked her head, kissing strands of hair.  He moved his lips to her neck, dragging them down into a laying position.  There he bruised his reluctant but obedient wife.  After a bit of this passion, he took the knife and scratched a little cut on her throat and began to suck.

"Stop, please," she whispered and he did.  His mouth covered in blood reminded her of Annatar and how he had bitten her stomach.  "You remind me of Annatar," she continued to whisper.

"Is that so bad, love?  We're practically the same."

"No, you are not.  You haven't left me." 

"Ah, so that is the reason you have been more welcoming of me.  No matter who I kill or have you kill, I am here for you.  I provide you with a basic need, no?  The need of interaction."

"Exactly."

Drawing her into a hug, he whispered, "Just think, I will be with you always."  He pointed to her forehead.  "In here."  And then he moved his finger to her breast.  "And in there.  I reside in those dark places of the human soul."  After laying there for a while, he finally spoke again.  "I want to show you that Annatar does not love you like I do."

"Please, I don't really want to see.  I tired of being torn apart by supposed lovers."

"I am not Annatar, nor am I Elladan or Haraduien.  Come on."  He pulled her off the bed and led her out the door she had not tried to use.  As she stepped over the rug in front of her door, things seemed to change.  They were in the dungeon, it was dark, and she heard moaning of women. 

"What is this place?"

"His Harem."

"How many are down here?"

"Hundreds.  He will tire of you eventually and when he does, this is where you'll stay in the depths of Minas Morgul."  He led her down a ways and took her to the largest cell.  It housed a young woman and three children, all of which bore Annatar's white blonde hair.  "Hello, Freya," he whispered in Sindarin.

She nodded her greeting.

"This is Naraca, the full Naraca, the one you could not be."

"She looks like a savage, Hurin."  She barely looked at Eruain, but kept cross-stitching a small tapestry with horses on it.  Rohirrim, Eruain labeled her.

"Hurin?"  Eruain looked up at the Dream Thief.  "Is that your name?"

"Yes, fitting isn't it.  The hidden one, the concealed one.  Do you like it, love?"  He had switched to Quenya when talking to her.

"Fitting?  Yes.  Did you name yourself?"

"No, it was the Dark Lord's wisdom that labeled me such."  Switching to Sindarin, he smiled darkly and whispered to Freya, "Do you have any advice for your queen, little Rohirric slut?"

"Yes," she hissed.  "Your Lords are but one.  Now leave."

Hurin led her back up the corridor, and spoke softly in her ear, "Now, just what do you think that means, love?  'Your Lords are but one?'  I figure she's insane." 

"That insanity is what I am succumbing to."

"Darling, that is the truth.  I mean you never even left your room."  They were back, lying on her bed as though it seemed as she never left.  Mind tricks were his domain and she could not help but fall victim.  "Oh, look," he ran a hand across her stomach.  "You are almost due."

Looking down, she saw the enormous swell of her belly.  And then he pushed hard on it and something inside of her burst.  Water coated her sheets and a terrible pain racked her body.  "What did you do to me?  Did you kill it?"

"No, I'm giving life.  Onnedhiel!" he yelled for her midwife.  "You're in labor, dear."

          


	11. Ch.10:  Visitors in the Night

Chapter 10: Visitors in the Night

* * *

"So, why hadn't I heard of your lover before, Elladan?"  One of the border soldiers that were escorting them through the Golden Wood was too curious about the Half-Elven prince's personal life.  He had asked at least twenty questions about what he did and what happened recently in Imladris and his family and all manner of things. 

"Authion, that's enough.  My lord Elladan does not deserve to hear your incessant bramble and questions about his personal life."  Haldir walked silently next to him, scanning the trees as if an enemy lurked behind each one.  He was not much older than Elladan and Elrohir and had been their friend for a long time.  It disturbed Elladan that Haldir was continuously checking for threats, though Elrohir was none too concerned as he was enjoying himself by teasing Elladan as well.

"No, Haldir, I do not mind.  Albeit, I have no desire to speak about Eruain."  Elladan was leading his horse, Lainathion, who held Arwen aloft him, weaving in and out of the trees.

"Fine then, brother, I will speak about her."  Elrohir started to motion with his hands to help describe her physiognomy.  Arwen rolled her eyes and pledged to ignore Elrohir.  "She has long dark hair.  Her skin is the color of slightly browned honey.  And eyes like the misty clouds that oft lie over the ocean."  He gazed off dreamily as a jest.

"Sounds like you fancy her as well, Elrohir," an elf walking next to Haldir commented, her face hidden.

"Aye, lads, you should have seen the bosom on this woman –" He made a ridiculous moaning sound, squeezing his hands around an imaginary bosom.

"That's enough, Elrohir," Elladan chided darkly.  Sending a narrowing expression, he almost let Elrohir go without demanding any reparations from his brother.  And then Elrohir said the unthinkable.

"If she was mine, I would have stayed near her and fucked her stupid so we would not be in such a mess," he whispered.

Elladan roared as he sent himself flying at his twin, entangling his fingers in Elrohir's hair.  He threw some punches and dodged what his clone sent at him.  Before it could continue any farther, Haldir and Authion tackled him, holding his flailing limbs back.  Arwen stared in fury at her brothers, her lips pursed in anger.

"What are you thinking?" she admonished them, jumping down from Lainathion.  They whipped their heads in her direction.  Their sister was never angry.  The only other time she had yelled, ever, was in desperate depression when they turned up with their dying mother.  She had blamed them that they could have saved her if they were just a little faster, if they had fought a little harder.  But now it was different, she did not look as angry, but her eyes radiated ire.  "These woods are not safe to be rolling around and fighting!  Eruain will not be saved by you two throwing punches at each other.  Elrohir –"  He shrank away at the sound of his name.  "You had no right to desecrate Eruain's image as you did.  Just because you are jealous that your brother found love does not mean you must make fun of him.  You know these last two months have been hard on him.  And you," she turned, her fury now fixed on Elladan.  "Just because your brother infuriates you with his incessant teasing does not mean you launch yourself at him!  Yes, I understand that your heart is complete in pieces and you desperately want to see her to safety, but you need to start thinking with your head."  She punctuated her sentence by pointing to her head.  "Your heart is in too much pain to be leading your thought process.  We are in danger outside the havens of Lórien and Imladris.  So stop acting ridiculous, both of you!"  She took Lainathion's reins and started to walk again.    

The rest of the party followed in silence; Elrohir put his arm around Elladan and whispered, "I am sorry, my brother.  I should not have said that nor did I mean it.  I love you too much to hurt you in such a way."  Elladan leaned his head against Elrohir's forehead and sighed.

"Brother, I need your help more than ever."  Almost, as if in passing, he mumbled, "The bonds of pain burrow deep.  And the Sun shields itself from my eyes.  Even the beauty of the Golden Wood has diminished as if the leaves were already fallen and my kin were gone from this world." 

"Elladan?"  Elrohir pushed his brother to face him.  "Look at me.  Look at me!"

"What," he snapped, acutely aware of the eyes of the border elves and those of his sister were on them.  "Elrohir, what is it?"  The trance was gone; he had life in his eyes now.  Elrohir had seen it fade with his words.  Worry and notice of his twin's waning sanity seemed to blossom in his mind.  Of course, Elrohir, no matter the circumstance, was always the more rational of the two of them, in his mind.  His numb feelings and expressions for everything left him immune to the hardships of the world and he was able to sort things out with knowledge.  Elladan, on the other hand, was acute to every emotion he had and those he found in others.  In Elrohir's opinion, this made him reckless and dangerous to himself and others. 

Eying Elladan with a narrowing expression, he ended up shrugging off the situation with a smile and, "I thought I saw a big bug on your face.  Sorry, my mistake, it was just your nose." 

"You have a same nose," Arwen commented nonchalantly in a tone her brothers understood that meant the Lórien elves were ever inquisitive and it was not appropriate to be talking about such things as despair in from of them.

"Yes, dear sister, but I wear it better," he chuckled, leaving Elladan's side, content with hearing the border guards' musical laughter at his comment.

"My lords, my lady," Haldir stopped them with a hand, motioning for them to hide behind the trees.  "Something moves behind these trees."  He pressed himself against the wide bark of a tree, his hand snaking down to grasp his dagger.  He pulled it free from its sheath as silently as he could walk.  The soft rustling could only have been heard by elven ears and Haldir pounced.  From the behind a tree he found a rugged man, whose clothing was worn and his body grimy.  "Why should I not kill you, human," he snarled in Sindarin.

"Estel!" the half-elven called out in surprise.  All three of them eager to exchange greetings with him. 

"Halt."  Haldir commanded, he eyed 'Estel' and the siblings warily.  "How can I trust that you will not harm them?" 

Estel pulled something on a chain from his pocket.  It shimmered in the filtered light.  "The Evenstar," Authion whispered in awe.  None of the Lórien elves had seen something so beautiful.

"Sister, that's yours…" Elrohir cast a sideways glance at her.  An unknown look was on her face; it was tenderness, but she was desperately trying to hide it.  Elrohir narrowed his eyes.  They thought he was stupid, his brother and sister.  They thought he didn't notice these little things.  But he did.  And it hurt him to be treated like a child.

"Yes, Elrohir, it is.  But not anymore…"  There was only one reason why the pendant would be given away.  She loved him.  Elrohir sighed in exasperation.  His siblings were smitten with mortals, such foolish siblings they were.       

"I have never seen you wear it."

"Haldir, I did not sport it during my stay in Lothlórien many years ago, because it had been left behind.  My father did not want those residing in Lórien to know my status in Imladris.  It would have caused much stress upon your people and on me."  She did not take her eyes off of Estel; their eyes locked together in an unbreakable gaze.  It sickened Elrohir to see how badly she wanted to press herself to him and just kiss him.  It was just like when Eruain would often invite Elladan to swim.  It was indecent and unacceptable for elves, or at least the elves of their days.

The Border Captain spoke again, "Where are you headed?"

"To inform the Lady of the Golden Wood of the Mirkwood incident and to bring tidings from Mithrandir."

"What do you mean?"

"I will allow council with you if the Lady wishes that as well," Estel commented coolly, alluding that the information he wished to give was not for common soldiers' ears.

"Follow me then," Haldir motioned for their troop to move again.  Silence enveloped them and they walked onwards towards Lothlórien.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

            He sat up drenched in sweat.  The name that formed softly on his lips in a silent cry was that of 'Eruain'.  He covered his face with his hands and let harsh mortal emotions take over.  More and more his Mannish side was taking over.  The Lust, the Greed, the Anger, the Grief.  Everything was cascading down upon him and he felt as if his mind was warring against him, as mad as Eruain had become. 

            "What troubles your mind in the late hours of the night?"  The sweet voice called to him, drifting on the wind.  "What haunts you, young one?"

            "Mother…?" he mumbled half asleep still.  He caught sight of her and his eyes ceased their beaming they developed when he thought his mother was alive again.  "Grandmother."

            "Will you not grant me peace by answering my inquiries?  What nightmare about Eruain has you hurting?  Do not think I do not know of your love, young one."

            "It was not a dream nor was it a nightmare.  It was something similar to father's premonitions.  She," his voice broke.  "She struggles through her labor, a masked man stands beside her, coaxing her to scream as he carves the dreadful poem onto her back as she pushes the baby.  The midwife is worried because her hips are too narrow to give safe and easy passage for her child.  She is calling for me."  He did not dare to mention to his grandmother that she called for Haraduien as well.  "She pleads for my help.  She pleads for murder.  It is as if she does not want the baby.  I could hear her praying for a boy, mumbling something about how it has to be a boy.  There is blood everywhere and her skin pales.  Finally, she is successful in pushing the baby out, gasping for breath.  She starts to thrash and scream when she learns it is a girl, cursing the babe.  She calls it Krahiya, mumbling something about how it means hate.  Then a blonde elf is there and promises that he would not kill Alatar as he said he would but has slain many of his concubines and their children in anger, warning her that next time it had to be a boy.  And she falls into a deep sleep, Krahiya whines at her breast and Eruain screams within her dreams."  He sighs, tears falling from his eyes as he relives the dreadful vision of her labor.  "That is what deeply troubles me…"

            "It seems to me that you have glimpsed the future.  It is not something you can change, but you may have time yet to save her and this child."

            "Then let me go!"  He exploded with anger.  All of these wise elves were just holding him back.  None of them actually wanted him to save her, he knew.  "Why is it that none of you acknowledge my love for her?  Do you think it is just a trifle?"

            "No, but you are not prepared to wield any weapons against her captors.  And that is why you must stay here.  Your father sent you and your siblings here for me to monitor because he did not wish to lose you as he knows you would foolishly throw away your life for this human."  Lady Galadriel was not harsh, but her voice did hold disapproval.

            "I love her!" he spat.  "That is why I would throw my life away just as you would for the life of your kin!  I wish I had been born a mortal…"

            "You have been graced with immortality, my dear one…"

            "Leave me."

            "As you command, young lord," Galadriel took her leave of him, disappearing as she had come into the star filled night. 

            In a desperate manner, Elladan searched for a knife, a dagger, just anything sharp.  It was a frenzy he had delved into, his pace quickening as he started to lose faith in finding a weapon.  Sighing in ecstasy, his fingers brushed the smooth hilt of a dagger.  He smiled as he put the cold metal on his skin, the flesh of his arm tingled with the familiar feeling.  He lost himself in the sensation as he drew it softly across his palm, coaxing the blood out with a shudder.  Such a sick habit he had developed, he mused as he watched his blood start to clot.  How wonderful pain and the idea of death was.  He played gleefully with the dagger, drawing the edge of it across his skin chaotically, and frowned as the blood clotted almost immediately.  Such was the horror of his immortality.  Finally he seemed to grow bored with his ministrations and set the bloodied blade down.   Wiping himself of blood, he crawled back into his bed.

            Another visitor.  His eyes narrowed at his window as the easily distinguishable silhouette of his brother emerged.  "Finished with your playing, my brother?  It was just getting dangerous," he whispered in anger.  His brother, his own brother, was becoming insane.  Or maybe it was his nature that drove him insane.

            "Perhaps you'd like to join me next time, brother," Elladan whispered just as darkly.

            "I'll pass.  I'd much rather suffer alone than have to enjoy the burden of your suffering."  Elrohir strode over to Elladan's desk where the dagger sat and picked the knife up.  In a flash, he sent the blade out the window, throwing it hard.  "I'm sorry I've seem to have lost your play toy." 

            "Just leave me alone."  Elladan whined, almost promising himself that he would search for that dagger.  "You cannot help me.  You do not know what it is like to love someone like I love her, or how Arwen loves Estel." 

            "Yes, but I do love you, my brother.  You should not hurt yourself so."  Elrohir chided him as he moved closer.

            "I do not require nor do I want your help.  Just leave me.  If you want to still have my love, leave."  He whispered again.  And this time Elrohir obeyed.  "Why is it that they care so much?"  He sobbed again.  "Why can I not be Eruain?  I'd rather be tortured by a creature of Mordor than endure such pain!  You are lucky, my love!  You fair better than I!"

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

**_One year has passed since the Half-Elven passed into the Realm of Lothlórien:_ **

            She watched as the orcs threw rocks against the walls of the main tower in Minas Morgul.  They bounced off harmlessly around Krahiya, who blew bubbles cutely in her basket that was set against the wall.  Her daughter waved slightly at the air and looked over at Eruain, cooing.  Eruain's eyes narrowed.

            It happened in an instance: a rock exploded against Krahiya's head, smashing the soft, developing skull in.  Blood erupted from the wound and brain matter fell to the ground.  Eruain scrambled over to her daughter, scooping up the blood and brains that had splattered against the ground and wall and attempted to push it back into her baby's skull.  Sobbing, she picked up Krahiya, and pulled out her sword.  "Kneel, you pieces of shit!"  She screamed, her voice breaking as she commanded the orcs.  "Kneel, damn it!" 

            They came and knelt in front of her, chattering quietly and she came upon them.  "Do you know what you have done, you bastards?!  Do you?!"  They said not a word.  "What if I took a rock and smashed it against your heads?  What if I threw you all off the walls and watch you die a slow death as your blood flowed from your wounds?  What have you done to me?!"  She cut the first orc's head off; it's black blood staining her and the other orcs around him.  A few started to get up.  "Stay where you are!"  She moved down the line, hacking and slashing until all eleven of the orcs were dead. 

            She set Krahiya down on the ground carefully and took each of the orcs and pushed them over the edge of the wall.  Then she picked up Krahiya again and ran to her chambers.  As she arrived, Annatar looked up from the book he was reading.  She thrust the dead baby towards him, showing him the horrendous corpse of his daughter.  "Look what your servants have done to your heir!  Look at her!  Look at our Krahiya!" she screamed.

            "Eruain," his voice became like honey.  "Bring her here."  At the simple command, she obeyed and let him have her daughter.  He brought his right hand upon the broken and bloodied brow of his child and she dissipated into ash that floated out of the window.

            Eruain watched as he set down his book, stood, and went over to the window to close it.  He turned around; his face was cold and unsympathetic.  He felt her grasp at his robes and whisper hotly into his ears, "Give me another one."

            "What?"  He watched her start to disrobe him, kissing his jawline passionately.

            "Give me another child.  I promise it will be a son this time," she smiled seductively and ran her hands over his bare chest, making an effort to kiss down his abdomen.  She knelt on the ground in front of his and threw off her black robes, becoming suddenly naked in front of him.  "It will be a son, I promise, my love..."  She tugged lovingly at his trousers. 

            A hand stayed her and brought her to her feet.  "Tell me what you just said again."

            "It will be a son, I promise..."  She resumed nipping at his skin, running a tongue along the base of his neck. 

            He thought for a second before grasping her face tightly, "Did you kill our daughter?"

            "No," she whimpered in pain.  "Why would I kill our child?"

            "Answer me truthfully, Eruain!" he bellowed.  He thrust his forehead against hers and broke into her mind.  He watched the scene replay.  The orcs threw rocks against the wall, none of them even close to hitting their child.  And then he felt the presence of an idea come to her mind and watched her pick up a rock.  She proceeded to stone their child.  He felt her mind become somewhat proud of what she did and then turned sour.  She screamed and ran to the child, trying to put her mangled body back together.  She turned on the orcs and murdered them all, finishing by throwing their corpses off the wall.  Pulling out of her mind, he whispered quietly to her, "Why did you kill her?"

            "You want a son.  I needed to have had a son!  I failed you!  What am I worth if I cannot accomplish one small task of having a son?"  She knelt before him.  "Please," she begged, "Give me another one!  Another chance."

            He took her by the arm and threw her on the bed.  She smiled in delight as she got her way.  He pulled off his pants and climbed on top of her, kissing her passionately.  "Your transformation is complete, Naraca."  He spoke her given Quenya name.  It was then she accepted his body and readily gave herself to him, instead of screaming the entire time.  She wanted to please her master, she wanted a son.  She loved Annatar and would kill for his love.  She no longer considered him evil or what he did to her in the night to be rape.  It was pure love now and she knew it would be a son, or she would murder her own once more.


	12. Ch.11: Breath

Chapter 11: Breath

            "Keep up, brothers!"  Boromir shouted to Faramir and Haraduien who lingered behind him as they ran through the seven levels up to the top.

            "I do not think I have the heart to make it!"  Faramir wheezed to a stop.

            "Jump on, my lord."  Haraduien bent down, offering his back to the younger son of Denethor.  "No stalling!  Lord Boromir is winning!"  Faramir threw his doubts behind him and climbed on to his taller companion.  Haraduien let out a yelp of victory as he began to run up hill, doubling his speed.  He did not struggle much with the extra weight of Faramir for in his younger days he had often born the weighty carcasses of the stillborn Mûmakil and those not deemed strong enough to live into the desert to wait for the pecking of the scavengers. 

            As Haraduien passed him, Boromir grunted in frustration, trying desperately to increase his own speed.  "How?" he shouted at the young Haradrim.  "How… with my brother too?"

            "He weighs less than a horse, so I am fine."  He panted back over the chatter of the crowds, most of which were paying no attention to the men for they did this frequently.  "Fourth level!" he exclaimed with pride.  He slowed his pace, walking his speed off with Boromir not far behind him.  Letting Faramir down, he went to the well on his right and pulled up the bucket, nearly emptying it all down his throat.

            "Brother, save some for me!"  Boromir raced over, practically drowning himself with the water.  Coughing a little he turned to his companions with a satisfied grin.  "Well I call that successful.  Soon enough I will be able to run for days."

            "I doubt it," Haraduien snorted.  "You who has never thirsted.  Try hauling Mûmakil carcasses through the desert fast enough so that you are not eaten by an Asad." 

            "You hauling giant elephants through the desert with lions nipping at your ankles is quite a funny scene to imagine.  Why can that not happen here?"  Boromir took another drink.  "Besides, we sons of Denethor are not as barbaric as you, you insane Haradrim." 

            "My lords, ambassador," a soldier bowed to them individually.  He did not give more than a fleeting glance to the brothers, but gave his full attention to the political refugee in front of him.  "Haraduien Binthaidar?"

            "Yes, soldier," his accent curling about his words in sudden seriousness.

            "A letter for you."

            "From whom?"

            "The messenger said it hails from a woman in the North who called herself Omi.  She was also quoted as saying that if you did not recognize her by the name, she sent a poem.  It reads 'A bloody road has been paved, the sacred war begun; no one shall be saved, when He spoils the Sun.' Does that help, my lord?"

            "Yes," he whispered, his eyes narrowing in concentration.  _Alatar.  But why?  After six years of no correspondence, why would she send a letter now?_ "Can I have the letter please?"

            "Here you are."  And they were left.

            Opening the folded paper, he skimmed the letter, reading the curved symbols of the Haradaic alphabet.  "What does it say?" the brothers asked curiously.

            Taking a deep sigh, he began the solemn letter. 

           

            "My dear son, Haraduien.  Long has it been since I last had communication with you.  It seems that it has almost been seven years.  It is not that I did not wish to send word to you, but the enemy's movement in the south almost makes it impossible for any of my letters to actually reach you in a timely and safe manner without them being intercepted at least once.

           

            "You see, if any of this would fall into dangerous hands whether trusted or not, it could be quite disastrous.  So before you read any farther down, please address any inappropriate company for if you trust their ears and mouths, you trust them with your very life.

            "First items to inform you of are those of Eruain's years.  As you know, she was taken from you three years after you departed from each other nine years ago.  Since then her life has been quite chaotic.  She slaughtered her first born, a daughter she named Krahiya.  Her second born was born not a year later due to prematurely induced labor.  She named him Habib.  Her third and fourth were born three years later.  She named them Khalil and Imran.  She was quite unstable in the mind at that time.  Her urges were volatile and an example of this is that Khalil put a scar on Habib and she cut her son to pieces.  Her mind is no longer that of my daughter or of your love.  Something of her former self still does reside inside her because while we sleep she projects her dreams to us, showing us what she is dealing with.  Her son, Habib, also has such powers.  He has been able to send us information through such methods as well.  Habib is worshiped by Eruain, but does not obey her.  We believe he is loyal to our cause and most likely is because he witnessed his brother's murder.  He does not agree with the actions and thoughts of his mother and because she adores him so, he is not punished.  Imran, on the other hand, has a much darker soul.  Habib has made mention of this.  His brother not more than a year old has shown signs of insanity like his mother.  He had strangled the puppy she gave him.

           

            "So, enough of Eruain.  Lord Elrond, Lord Glorfindel and I are all working on a way to save her.  Lady Arwen and the Lords Elladan and Elrohir are held in the protection of Lothlórien, safe from searching recklessly for Eruain.  Lady Galadriel has informed us that although a poison has taken over Eruain's mind, she does seek escape, both from physical and mental cells.  So, we do not have much to work with, but we are making an effort.

            "What is required of you are patience and the support of Gondor.  If this oncoming storm is to be endured we must fortify our relations with the free people.  You are the key to Gondor, my son.  Yours, Alatar."  He folded the letter and put it inside his boot.

            "I am not sure that Gondor supports the desperation of the Elves.  Where are they while we fight on the frontlines?  Hiding in their woods?  No, we mortals do not receive help from the Elves unless one of them is in the enemy's hands."

            "Boromir, I do not think you are fully grasping the situation.  The Elves are becoming involved because the enemies you fight have found the last known bearer of Isildur's Bane.  You would risk injury to the world by not supporting those who seek to destroy Isildur's Bane.  I wish you would think things through some times before being so brash."  Haraduien crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for the answer of the oldest brother.  Haraduien was the oldest of the men and the wisest; at least that is what he thought of himself as. 

            "I would risk injury to a culture that does not begin to fathom the lives and toils of men.  Yet they wish to save your beloved, why?  Why would any elf put their life on the line for a mortal in this age?" 

            "She does not just have my love.  Lord Elladan, son of Lord Elrond, wishes to be trothplighted with her.  She loves –"

            Faramir spoke quickly, almost like a child.  "But Haraduien, should she not marry you?  The one who loves her and who she loves in return?"

            "She has no heart for me.  Never has.  Yes, I would have wed her if we had stayed in Harad.  Alas, it is Fate's decision to allow such a noble elf as Lord Elladan to hold her love.  It's not just Fate's intervention though that requires that I no longer have love for her, it is also that I cannot remember her face."  Haraduien's shoulders slumped.  It was not something he was proud of.  He could remember his mother's face, but not Eruain's, not the face of the one he had loved most.  What a pitiful creature he was.

            "Do not worry, Haraduien.  I cannot remember my mother's face.  I was five when she died.  Do not feel bad about such things.  You cannot control –" Faramir's words were drowned out by a single shriek from a soldier who came riding past.

            "THEY ATTACK OSGILIATH!  ARMS!  WE MUST FIGHT!"  The soldier stopped briefly near them.  "My lords, I don't know how you want to address this, but it seems that the orcs are not led by one of the Nine but by a silver-haired elf and a Harad woman."

            "Eruain!"  Haraduien bolted again, towards the top level of Minas Tirith with the brothers following behind.  "We must go, my lords!"

            "Haraduien," Boromir panted as they reached the guest room where the Haradrim resided.  "Are you sure it is wise for you to go meet her in battle?"

            As he pulled his Hauberk on, he spoke softly.  "It is the only way to make sure she is safe.  I would rather that I would be the one to take her life than one of your soldiers.  She deserves the care I would give her in death that your men do not know.  We are different from you and your kind would willingly pierce her with an arrow and trample her body.  If I must kill her, I would make her my sword's sheath and then burn her body.  That is the only way."  As he finished speaking, almost all of his armor was on and he hastily strapped on his vambraces.  "I'll meet you on the frontlines."  And with that he hurried off, leaving the two brothers to ready themselves for battle.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

            She slid from saddle of the fell beast she rode, landing on the hard, infertile ground outside Osgiliath.  Annatar followed suit and signaled his mount to land.  "Naraca!"

            "Yes, my lord," she bowed, her black robes flowing about as she did.  She had her war paint decorating her skin and she was bloodthirsty. 

            "Due to your current condition, I want you to take to the skies once more.  It is far too dangerous for you on the ground."  She really could not tell them apart, Annatar and Hurin.  But it could be because what Freya had said was true.  They were one in the same, not different people.  Eruain had come to accept both of them and cherished both of them. 

            "I would stay by my lord's side and honor him with a sword."  She rose from the bow.

            "No!  Do as I say, Naraca!" he barked. 

            "Yes, my lord."  She mounted the fell beast once more and urged it towards the heavens.  Delighting in the wind that passed from the force of its wings beating, she shrieked a terrible war cry.  She hovered over the city of Osgiliath, watching the soldiers of Minas Tirith pour forth from the gate.  It seemed like forever as the men of Gondor ran across the plain.  But soon enough, they were in range for the arrows to start flying and her to start catching. 

            She spied a young man with dark brown hair who helmet had been lost from a glancing blow he took to the head.  He struggled to retreat, but the orcs were far too many and started to swarm around him.  His comrades, several yards behind, let loose arrows.  Those arrows did pierce many of her underlings but two struck the young man.  He staggered as he looked at his fellow soldiers.  They had sacrificed him, used him as bait.  Swooping down, the fell beast collected the young man and rose hundreds of feet in the air.  Nimbly, she crawled across the saddle and down the neck, hanging upside down to see the young man.  "What's your name?"

            He coughed, blood spilling from his mouth as he made an effort to whisper, "Duilin."

            "I like that.  So, I shall help you die swiftly."  She smiled and rubbed the neck of the fell beast, signaling it to release her prisoner.  "Goodbye, Duilin."

            In the process of toying with her captive, her mount had dropped several hundred feet, in range for some archers to let arrows fly past her head.  Scrambling back into the saddle, she directed the beast towards the archers atop the ramparts.  She knocked some over and picked up three.  She released them over the city, hoping that they plummeted into another soldier, killing them as well.

            Gliding down, she stopped next to the parapet where Annatar barked orders from.  "How fares the battle, my lord?"

            "Our forces have reached the inner walls of the city.  Soon it will be ours.  What have you been doing?"

            "Killing as you wished me to.  From the skies."

            "Stop playing.  This is not a game.  Just kill as many as you can."

            "Yes, my lord."  She took to the heavens once more, circling like a crow above the city and pouncing down onto groups of soldiers as a cat would a mouse.  As she spiraled above, she could barely make out that a group of men had reached Annatar, a dark haired, dark-skinned man shouted orders to them from behind.  "Hurin!" she screamed as a sword cut his bicep, diving almost immediately as she saw it.  Swiftly she was upon them, sliding off the back of her mount and into the fray of soldiers. 

            "Get back," Haraduien shouted in Westron, halting his troops as the young woman growled in front of the elf, defending him.  A slight bulge in her robes confirmed his fears.  Of course, she was pregnant.  And this was the father, whom she would protect until her last breath was drawn.  "Eruain, welcome," he called out in Haradaic.

            "Haraduien, why are you trying to kill my husband?  I am Shamsa.  Qamar must obey Shamsa.  Order your men back into the city to be slaughtered in front of their wives, dying noble but tragic deaths."

            "As poetic as that sounds, Eruain, I cannot allow that.  And as we have both left our blessed land, you have no hold over me.  You are just Eruain and I am just Haraduien.  I have forsaken my title as Qamar as I have forsaken Shams."  Drawing his shamshir, he weaved it delicately through the air.  "I have no qualm with you, Shamsa, but I do have a score to settle with the elf you guard."

            "I will not be moved."

            "I present to you my life, Master elf.  Should I lose it in a duel against you, my spirit will be satisfied that I died at the hands of such a worthy foe.  Should I keep it and take yours, I will take your wife with me and you shall have your forces retreat from this broken city."  Haraduien kneeled and cut his finger, smearing blood along his blade and on his face.  "What say you to a duel?"

            "I would not risk it, Haradrim.  Instead, my lovely wife, who is so eager to meet you in battle, shall fulfill that role."  Annatar ordered his troops to retreat from the city.  "Should she win, my force shall cross the borders of the city once more and the fighting shall commence once more.  Should she lose, my force will still attack, but you will have the black mark of killing an unborn child.  Choose your fate, Haradrim."

            He dropped slowly into a wide stance, never breaking his gaze on Eruain.  She released her robes from their bindings, revealing lion's fur undergarments and a swelled stomach.  Crouching much lower than him, she began to study his movements.  She drew an elven blade, long, delicate and curved.  Drawing her hand over the blade, she smothered it in her blood.  Circling him, she waited for him to make the first move.  Unfortunately for her, his attack was hard and quick, leaving her barely an instance to block it.  Swinging her sword forward in a swift motion, she tried to land a blow on his shoulder but was easily blocked.  "Eruain, I'm disappointed.  Has motherhood weakened you?  I remember you being slightly accomplished at swordsmanship."  He lunged and nicked her bicep.  "Is your unborn child inhibiting you?"

            "Shut up.  Just shut up!  You abandoned me!  You know nothing of my life!"  In anger, she clumsily dove towards him, angling her sword towards his chest.  He knocked it aside as if it were a fly, and caught her wrists.  Holding her tightly, he forced her sword to drop and brought her to his chest, holding his shamshir against her neck. 

            His eyes softened as he watched her, deranged and thrashing to get away from him.  "Eruain," he mumbled gently.  "Can I not help you?"

            "Haraduien!  What are you doing?  The enemy has withdrawn.  We should push their forces further back."  Boromir and Faramir finally joined them on the parapet.  The older one was the one who called out to him and was now watching as he gripped the exotic woman close to him.  She was truly a beauty in their eyes, scandalous but beautiful.  He could not help but notice the black snake that wound up her body, observing the way it looked as it circled her stomach in such a way as if it was constricting around her unborn child. 

            Haraduien kept mumbling in Haradaic calming words.  As he did so, he was drowned out by the loud roaring of the fell beast that hovered next to the rampart.  He watched in horror as Annatar leapt on the beast, acknowledging his departure with, "Murder her quickly, would you?  I have no place in my court for the weak minded."  With a gust of wind, he left for his army.

            "My lord!  Hurin!  Hurin!" Eruain's voice was hoarse with desperation, screaming after the elf she loved.  "Why?  You said that you'd always be with me!  Where are you now?!"  She looked around, frightened. 

Fixing her eyes on the wall of the parapet, she smiled.  "I found you, my love."  She struggled once more against Haraduien who could not help but pity her declining sanity.  Letting her go, he watched her touch the air as if it was Hurin.  She smiled and smiled.  "Of course my love."  In dismay, he moved towards her as she mounted the wall, preparing to jump.  He ran, but was too late; he watched her body disappear over the wall.  As he neared the wall, he was forced back by a gust of wind summoned up by Annatar's fell beast.  He watched as the forces of Mordor withdrew and Annatar rode off with Eruain.

He let out a scream of utter frustration as he dropped to his knees.  "That is the second time I have had to watch her fly away from me," he told to the brothers standing next to him.  "Next time, I will not make it a third."

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

            "Yes, you deserve this, love," Annatar frowned in disappointment as he threw his consort into the largest cell in the dungeons.  "I have tired of you already.  I really thought you would give better sport.  I was wrong."

            "My lord?  My lord!"  She watched his back retreat, calling out for him desperately.

            "We are going to rot down here."

            "What did you say?"  She swiveled around to find Habib carefully whittling a piece of wood into the shape of a snake. 

            "We're going to die in this very cell, Omi.  He does not want us."  Habib frowned, his frown looking just like his father's.  They were so alike: silvery-blonde hair, light blue eyes, the same nose and mouth.  His color was hers though.  "You failed him…again."

            Grasping Habib by the throat she squeezed slightly.  "I did NOT fail him.  I cannot fail him.  She was the only failure, ever!  He wants us still.  We are precious to him.  You are his heir."  Releasing him, she whispered, "I am sorry, baby, but you have to respect your father.  Please do not speak so harshly about him.  You do not know what you are saying."

            "Imran is sleeping in a box in the back.  If you cared to know…" 

            Going to her youngest son, she picked him up, talking to his sleeping form to help settle her mind.  "Imran, Omi has a question for you.  Why does your older brother hate Omi so?  Omi adores Habib, but Habib loathes her.  Do you know why?  Do you know why his mind is poisoned so?"  She stroked the dark hair of her son.  He looked like her; dark hair, dark skin, gray eyes.  The ears are what gave him away as Annatar's son.  "Is Omi undesirable by Habib?"

            "You are overreacting, Omi.  I do not hate you.  I love you," Habib whispered quickly into the lingering dark of the flickering candle, staring at the faint silhouette of his mother and younger brother.  "You killed Khalil in my name, though.  I cannot help but have feelings of disappointment and horror towards you, you whose mind has been warped by the Masked Man."

            "Do not say another word, Habib!  Or I will slaughter you as well, no matter how much I love you.  I love your father more and you are blaspheming his name."  Eruain huffed in annoyance and settled upon the rough bed in the corner after placing Imran back in his box.  "Come sleep when you have some warmth in your breast for your mother and father."  With the darkness as her witness, she whispered, "I hope he comes for you tonight, my son."

            But Hurin did not come for Habib.  He came for Eruain.  Again she was shackled to the wall, positioned across from three kneeling and hooded people.  "And here we are again.  Six years of the same game and you have managed to kill seventy-six innocent people.  Tonight, we've raised the stakes because of your little failure.  We also seem to have an audience.  Somehow someone has been leaking them information and they've managed to weasel their way into my world." 

            "Hurin, my lord, how did I fail you?"  She was confused.  She lived and had not submitted to Haraduien.  What had she done wrong?

            "I am not sure how to tell you this, but the child that grows within you is going to be stillborn.  I cannot hear its tiny heartbeat.  You have failed to give life to a Child of the Dark.  And you've killed two of the ones that were successfully brought into this world.  One of the ones still alive hates you and allies himself with the enemy.  And the other is just a babbling little boy who understands nothing.  I would call this failure."

            Hanging her head in defeat she could see that she was not worth keeping.  It was not strange for Annatar to get rid of her for she was worthless and was only a failure.  "Okay.  Let's play."

            "Eager, dear?  Good, because I have a treat for you."  Motioning to his left, he drew her eyes to other shackles.  Those shackles were encased about her friends and family.  All of them were there: Alatar, Suladân, Elrond, Bilbo, Glorfindel, Elrohir, and Arwen.  Haraduien and Elladan were not among them.  "And the cowls disappear…"  Hurin revealed the faces of the ones she had to choose from to kill.  She had to choose between Haraduien, Elladan, and Habib.

            Choking in a strangled cry, she could not fathom how she would be able to choose between her best friend, her love, and her child.  "Hurin, why?" she whimpered.

            "It's fun, my dear.  Now should I read to you their crimes?"

            "Please."  Anything to delay her choice.

            "Haraduien: formerly Qamar.  He is charged with the forsaking of Shams and of Shamsa.  He has betrayed his country and deserves death.  Elladan: son of Elrond.  He is guilty of abandoning his love, suicide attempts, and the desire to forsake his kin and immortality.  His crimes are punishable by death.  Habib: our son.  He hates his mother and father.  He has leaked information to the enemy and plots to kill Annatar and myself.  It would be a motion of justice if he would be executed."  Hurin sat in corner, next to the mute audience she had.  "Go on choose.  Oh, and there will be no weapon today, just your hands, love."

            Walking towards her most loved people in the world, she knelt before each of them.  While her mind was unable to withstand the poison it received from Annatar, within her subconscious, during these nightmares, she could almost regain her sanity.  Taking Haraduien's face in her hands, she whispered in Haradaic, "I am sorry if I have ever caused you heartbreak or injury.  I should have not been so cruel to you, but I was.  Please forgive me.  I am glad you have forsaken Shamsa, because I am not worthy of it."

            Moving on, she started to cry as she pressed her lips to Elladan's in a desperate manner.  Breaking the kiss she mumbled in broken Sindarin.  "I do not care anymore that you abandoned me.  You could not help me, no matter how hard you tried.  I still… I want to be your bride.  Someday I will."

            "Habib," her voice cracked.  How could she possibly kill her child?  She had done it before.  But Habib…  Her mind was not tainted so in this world that Hurin had created.  But could she choose her child, illegitimate child, over her longest known friend and her soul mate?  She could.  Placing a kiss on Habib's forehead, she whispered lovingly, "It will not be you."

            Rising, she turned towards Hurin, bowing.  "My lord, I have made my decision.  May I proceed?"

            "Go ahead."  Her mute audience was screaming silent screams, trying to persuade her not to kill.  But they fell on deaf ears for she paid them no heed, not even acknowledging that they were there.  She left Habib's side.

            She stopped in front of Elladan.  "You trust me?  I do not think so."  It was not him.

            Haraduien sighed as she moved on to him.  Of course it would be him.  He was of her same mind and kin.  They had grown up together and loved each other deeply.  He was the only one he could trust to kill him.  She knew exactly how he wanted her to act as she squeezed the life from him.  He would give her the strength to complete the task, accepting his death nobly.  He would not show fear in his eyes, knowing that is where she would looking.  They had duties to one another and those would be fulfilled by killing the other.  "Eruain."

            "Akhi.  Akhi, I'm scared," her voice trembled as she rested her head on his shoulder.  "I am scared you will not forgive me."

            "Hush, little one.  I have always forgiven you, because I love you and I will continue to do both through death.  You are doing me a favor.  You are sending me home to Shams.  My little Shamsa," he kissed her, gently and grief-filled, on the lips.

           

            Her voice broke with a sob as her fingers slid around his throat.  "Akhi, do me a favor?"

            "Anything, my love."

            "Do not look away.  Stare at me.  I want to see you when you die."  She began the process.  Whispering broken Quenya and Haradaic, she consoled him as he choked and struggled slightly.  She brought her lips to his over and over again, calming him.  She was drowning him with love for the first time.  And he could only adore her.  That was why it had to be him.  As she felt his breath getting shallower and more desperate, she began to weep.  The look in his eyes told her to continue and to stop crying, but she could not.  She had not the heart to stop.  In a last act of love, she sang for him in Sindarin the one hymn of passing she knew: the hymn to Elbereth. 

"Fanuilos heryn aglar

Rîn athar annún-aearath

Calad amen i reniar

Mi 'aladhremmin ennorath!

A Elbereth Gilthoniel

I chin a thûl lin míriel

Fanuilos le linnathon

Ne ndor haer thar i aearon.

A elin na gaim eglerib

Ned în ben-anor trerennin

Si silivrin ne herth 'waewib

Cenim lyth thílyn thuiennin."

He was dead.  Shams' light was gone from his eyes.  As she cradled his dead body against her chest, she sobbed.  He had been loyal to her in the end.  How could such reckless love overcome the amassing hate and poison that tainted her and the world of Men?  Through the darkness, she heard a piercing scream, wailing uncontrollably.  It was her voice that tore through the silence.  Anguish pouring from her very soul.

 As she wept, a light encased her and Haraduien.  Elbereth had answered her.  She rose and turned towards Hurin, eyes blazing.  Her gaze held him in place and as she neared him, she could feel fear radiating off of him.  She placed her hand gently on his forehead, searing him with the light.  He screamed in the Black Speech, foul and like the Nazgûl.  She continued to sing the hymn to Elbereth softly under her breath.  Ripping the mask from his face, she saw that he was in fact Annatar, his white-gold locks changing from black before her eyes.  She stopped singing as she gripped his face with both of her hands.  She shrieked loudly in Haradaic, "Never again may you pollute my mind with this world!  I am a slave no longer!"  And he was gone.

Breathing heavily, she collapsed, clutching her swollen stomach.  Habib ran to her, stumbling with his bounds.  "Omi!"  He pressed his face to her chest, crying and did not stop.  Soon he was joined by the others, who gathered about the dazed woman.  Speaking in every language, she was overwhelmed with their voices, some angry, some sad. 

"STOP IT!  Please just stop…"  She could not take it any longer.  "Please just kill me as well."

The crowd about her parted as Elladan bent down to her.  "Eruain.  Why must more blood be spilt for Annatar?  Stay strong.  I have no comforting words for you."  He just placed his hand on top of hers as she cried.  Holding strong to her, he was the last one to depart from her nightmare.  Before he left, he brought her to stand before him, holding her hands still. 

"Gi melin, Eruain.  And that will never change.  I will love you through death," he echoed Haraduien's words.

"Save me!  Please save me.  Gi melin.  I want to live with you.  I want to love you as your bride.  Please, just save me."  She whimpered against him, holding her unborn child with her arms.  "Would you accept me?  In this broken and soiled form?  I am not a virgin.  My children are not yours.  Can you accept me?"

"How could I not, my love?  For six years I have suffered without you.  When given a chance to be with you forever, I would take it as those six years have seemed like six eternities.  Wait for me.  For I am coming."  He released her and turned towards the lifeless body of Haraduien.  "He is not dead."  And Elladan was gone.

Rushing in desperation to Haraduien she pressed her ear to his chest listening for life.  It came once, and she thought it was her mind once again fooling her.  When his chest rose in a struggled breath, she could not believe it.  His eyes slid open and he smiled weakly at her.  "Next time, just kill me quickly and correctly," his whispered, his voice hoarse.  "You just –"  She stifled him with a forceful kiss.  "You could let me breath," he mumbled.

"How are you still alive?  I killed you.  I know I did!"

"You did," he replied heavily.  "But you foolishly sang the hymn to Elbereth.  Such sorrow awakened your Istari blood.  Alatar is known as the Great Healer.  It was said once that she had the power to bring back one whom had been dead for a year.  You must have her healing abilities just as I have my mother's combat prowess.  I'm not dead."

"Haraduien," she smiled, kissing him over and over again, happy and content he was alive.  But it was not to last as he murmured to her.

"Elladan would probably not want his betrothed to be kissing me.  Anyways you need to wake up.  If we stay here much longer, I fear that your time has been sped up once again.  Who knows what Annatar has done to you while you've been in this dark?  Go now.  For I am leaving."  He hugged her tightly, before disappearing like Elladan had. 

Forcing herself awake, she could feel constraints on her arms and legs.  Smiling at her wickedly through the dim light, Annatar wielded a small blade, carving intricate patterns on her back and arms and legs.  "Welcome, my love, to the play room."

* * *

Chapter End Notes:

Translation for Hymn of Elbereth:  
Snow White! Snow White! O Lady clear!  
O Queen beyond the Western Seas!  
O Light to us that wander there  
Amid the world of woven trees!  
Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!  
Clear are thy eyes and bright is breath,  
Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to thee  
In a far land beyond the Sea!  
O Stars that in the Sunless Year  
With shining hand by thee were sown,  
In windy fields now bright and clear  
We see your silver blossom blown!  
O Elbereth Gilthoniel!  
We still remember, we who dwell  
In this far land beneath the trees,  
Thy starlight on the Western Seas  
(Taken from http://www.tolkienonline.de/etep/topicon/SDA/elberethvirgin.html) this is what it should sound like: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MA-QVMEcy_Y  
Omi is Quenya for mother  
Gi melin is I love you in Sindarin.


	13. Ch. 12: Passion Play

Chapter 12

           

            "Alatar, harken to me."  Elrond was leaning against the back of a high-backed chair, sighing as he ruffled through some old maps, yellow and crisp. 

            The woman looked over at him, glancing at his eyes.  She could see the wrinkles and worn down expressions that had happened over time.  The desire to sail had been embedded within his soul and he was slowly tearing himself apart staying in Imladris.  "My lord?"

            "Does Eruain carry your ability?"

            "No.  I had hoped she had, but no.  She has the extended life of an Istari and has deep understanding of her subconscious, but she does not possess my ability to heal.  At least not yet.  Haraduien possesses the powers of his mother, but not Eruain."

            Squeezing his eyes shut as he pressed his middle finger and thumb against the bridge of his nose in an effort to think, he mumbled something.  Glorfindel watched him from his seat next to Alatar, noticing his fatigue.  "What bothers you?"

           

            "Why did Haraduien come back to life?"

            An answer broke through as Elrond opened his eyes and started to skim a section of an old tome.  "He didn't."  Alatar picked at a scab on her arm in order to distract her from what she was talking about.  "Eruain did not kill him." 

            The looks from the elves urged her to continue.  "She knew he was not dead.  It is common knowledge in Harad how to cause unconsciousness by strangulation.  But to fool Hurin, she forced herself to believe that she had killed Haraduien, so she thought she had killed him.  He also did not show that he had awakened mere moments after she had released him."  As Glorfindel opened his mouth to ask another question, she explicated the light.  "The light you saw was her way of purification of her tainted mind.  It was her nightmare and she regained control of it, realizing that it was her dream.  That is why she was able to expel Hurin from her dream and to be able to stop sending us images of her dream.  It was a victory for us.  She is no longer under the spell of Annatar.  He has no psychological power over her now."

            "How did you know all of this, Alatar?"  Glorfindel was surprised.  He knew she was an Istari, but she had never really acted as such.  She did not present herself as a wise individual as Mithrandir did.  It was easy to forget she had deep knowledge.

            "I taught Eruain to hold a person's neck in such a way not to cause death or injury to a person.  My explanation of the light is logical, although I do not know what truth it holds.  Yes, I suppose it could have been Elbereth, but within the subconscious, it is more probable that it was an event made up by Eruain's mind.  I am just thankful that she is once again my daughter."

            "Yes, that is something to be grateful for," Elrond mumbled.  He rose, excusing himself from their company to go ponder on his own.  The Gardens is where he found solace.

            Lhûn walked quietly over to him, her bare feet squishing through the grass that was wet with dew.  "Lord Elrond," she bowed deeply.

            "Send word to Lothlórien.  My children are to come home."

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

            "How does it feel?  To have killed Haraduien?"  Annatar pulled the knife away from the fire he had subjected it to.  The iron was red hot and as he neared, she whimpered.  Screaming against her bonds, she reacted to the searing agony that the knife brought to her back.  Cutting and burning, the pair of excruciating pain bore down upon her and she threatened to faint.  As she looked around hazily, he drenched her back in water, offering some relief but it was not enough.

           

            "Omi," Habib continued to shriek as he watched his mother be tortured.  He watched her flesh crisp and her blood boil.  He could do nothing, but faint.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

            "Father, your patience has lasted far too long," Elladan roared.  His mortal blood ran hot through his veins in a deep passion of anger, easily usurping his calm elvish conscious.  The laughter and singing and talking ceased in the Dining Hall where a feast was served in celebration for the return of the Lord's children.

            "Who are you to judge my patience?  Perhaps it is not that mine has lasted too long, it is that yours is short."  Elrond would not be troubled with his son.  "We are doing the best we can at this moment."

            "You do not understand."

            Alatar frowned at this display.  Speaking softly, she commented, "Elladan, listen to your father for he has foreseen Eruain's fate."

            Whipping his head towards his father, he scowled and spit out his words like venom.  "You have foreseen it?  Tell me, father: do you know how she suffers each day?  Do you?!"  His voice bellowed through the hall, echoing in the silence of the elves.

            "Elladan, please…"

            "Do you not have the heart to tell them?  To tell Alatar?  I am brave enough to speak about how my love is tortured every day.  Actually allow me to demonstrate."  He walked to the fire, drawing his dagger.  Placing the tip in the fire, he waited until the end was red hot.  Withdrawing it, he rolled his sleeve up.  "Annatar takes a knife just like this and heats the end.  As he whispers with a serpent tongue, he carves into her skin with the burning knife."  He dragged the point over his forearm, hissing with the pain.  "He allows her some relief with a splash of water, but it is not enough.  The horror of her reality is not that he tortures her.  It is that her son is witness to it.  He screams as he watches her thrash and writher.  Father, your patience astounds me with its longevity.  Would it not be wise to act while she suffers?  While he suffers?  Or is it that you are trying your best without the knowledge or acknowledging that sooner or later her spirit will break and she will die?  Speak!"

            Arwen stood, moving between her father and brother.  Looking to Elladan, she whispered softly, "Brother, that is enough.  Await me in the garden."  Ignoring his huff, she watched him leave, growing angry at the whispers of the elves.  "It is not polite to speak on a subject you know nothing about," she informed the hall.  "Father, if you would excuse us, I will talk with Elladan."  She bowed and followed Elladan's leave.

            "I'm sorry, I must go as well," Alatar choked.  She ran from the room.  With a look from Glorfindel, Elrond dismissed him as well. 

            "It seems your homecoming did not go as planned."  Elrond mentioned to Elrohir.

            "It is because you do not understand their feelings, father.  You are deaf to their hearts."  He left as well.

X~X~X~X~X~X~X~X

            "Are you daft?" she whispered into the night with a slight sting in her voice.  Who was she to reprimand her elder brother?  Who was she to scold him; if Estel's life was in danger, she would act just the same. 

            "Aye, I am.  She, who I love, suffers under the hand of an elf that has stolen her away, driven her insane, raped her brutally, allowed her to kill her children, forced her to kill her best friend, and torture her.  That is just a small list of his crimes against us."  As soft as he dared, he murmured, "I will leave tonight on the quest to save her."

            "Do you even know where she is located, Elladan?"  An old, familiar voice hummed as he smoked a pipe; the smoke curling around his gray beard and hat.

            "Why have you come now?  Why did you not come five years ago?" he replied haughtily.

            "I had business in Dol Guldur.  And the information you seek was reaped from my investigation.  Should I tell you now or should I wait for council with your father and my kin?"

            "Now.  I leave tonight."  Elladan took a step towards Gandalf, meaning to persuade him with force if necessary.  He was on edge and his grip on reality was quickly slipping.  It was a fool's choice to speak logic and tarry with him now.

            Taking another puff of the weed, the wizard turned from the Half-Elven, deciding his course.  "Nay, Lord Elladan.  With council only will I relay my knowledge."  Turning back to him, he eyed him with a commanding look.  "You will not leave until I have spoken, for it may lose your beloved her life.  Do not be hasty."

 Following the wizard into the library, they were not surprised to see their father, Elrohir, Alatar and Glorfindel, the latter two clutching at each other as if they were drowning.  Alatar's face was tear-stained and her eyes red and swollen.  Elrond still had a fatigued air about him and Elrohir was looking none too pleased with the situation.  "My lords, my lady," Gandalf bowed.

In a rage, Alatar launched herself at him, only to be held back by Glorfindel.  She struggled against her lover and it almost took his full strength to hold her.  "You traitor!  You abandoned us in our time of need!"  She started to curse him in Haradaic.

After she had quieted, he whispered, "And because I did so, I know where your daughter is.  I was not just spending my time idly and abandoning you.  I felt as if there was knowledge at Dol Guldur and quite right I was.  Eruain is held captive not at Barad-Dûr or in Cirith Gorgor, near Morannon, but at Minas Morgul, the Dead City.  Unfortunately, you will find the Nine and Annatar there as well.  What you need is a diversion for Annatar and the Nine to leave their palace, so someone is able to retrieve your lover, Elladan, instead of just blindly charging into battle."

"I wasn't going in blindly.  I had a plan."  Elladan crossed his arms, feeling ostracized by the others.

"Clearly," Elrohir commented.  This earned him a dirty look from Elladan, who was losing confidence in rescue plan.  He had had no knowledge of where she was, but now that he did, he had no inkling of an idea how he would be able to storm Minas Morgul, even with a diversion.  "So what type of diversion are you suggesting?"

"What does Annatar want?  What would make them leave?  Gollum will not give them the location of the ring, but I will not risk revealing Frodo.  Maybe we could plant false information about the location of the ring.  No, no, it is completely foolish.  It is far too risky and, more likely than not, Annatar will not take the bait.  No, I will not support that idea."  Gandalf put a hand to his mouth in concentration, rejecting the idea of luring Annatar and the Nazgul out.

"No, you are right.  It is a foolish suggestion," Elrond agreed.

The one voice of opposition to their agreement astonished all.  Elladan looked in surprise to the corner of the room, watching the flickering shadows of all them mask her surge of utter desperation.  "Why not?  Why not risk it?  What does he have over my daughter?  Why can the slight hope of false information not work?  Is she not worth it?  Is her life no different than the moth's, which only lasts a day?  Is life that expendable?  What of her children?  Should they be forced to watch their mother suffer, suffer themselves?  Do they deserve that?  And what of Elladan?  The one he wishes to make his wife is lying under another elf.  I love Suladân, as much as I love Glorfindel.  Eruain is his daughter, his only child, his pride, his Sun!  The Haradrim love her; she is their Shamsa.  Glorfindel loves her as a father.  What of me?  I am selfish.  I would risk the fate of Middle Earth for the safety of my daughter.  Does that make me any different from any other mother?  How many mothers have had to watch their sons go off to war in oversized helmets?  How many mothers have had to see their daughters marry men they do not love, but they do it for the family?  How many mothers have lost their child from sickness or starvation?  Am I not allowed to feel like them?  Am I not entitled to hurt like them?  Am I not supposed to risk the world for her?"  She did not cry for the passion welling inside her stifled her tears.  She wanted them to take her seriously.

No one breathed as to not upset her more.  But the first one to speak was Arwen.  "I agree."  Clarifying, "Maybe not with the method she wishes to save Eruain, but I wholeheartedly agree that we cannot forsake a life.  All of us here have no concept of death but it exists.  She is dying, albeit the poison that haunts her is not Annatar, it is indecision, abandonment of hope.  How can she hope if we do not have a shred?"

"I understand.  But that still leaves us to decide what we wish to do," Gandalf retorted.  He was not satisfied with the road they were choosing to go down.  But the lives of Alatar's daughter and her children were at stake and they had valuable secret council with the enemy.  If not just for Alatar, Gandalf wished to have that information.  That advantage over the enemy would help ensure Frodo's safety.

"I had a palantír, in Harad.  Suladân used it to converse with Sauron.  Maybe he could use it to reveal me to Al Mudhlim.  What would Sauron give to have an Istari on his side!  There are only four of us, and all are elusive.  I would give my life for my daughter's."

Glorfindel turned Alatar in his hands, speaking in rough Haradaic, his voice breaking softly, "I would be losing you again?  Have you and your daughter not broken my heart enough?  You are cruel."

"I am cruel because I seek the safety of my daughter and my grandchildren?  Then cruel I must be.  As much as Suladân distrusts me, he will aid me for he loves her.  I will not say I will return, but if I do not it is not the end.  Somehow, someway, I will find you again."  Without announcement, she kissed him long and hard.  She had loved him, but she was another's wife.  What hurt her in having to leave Suladân is that she truly loved both Harad and its Malikun.  As much as she deserved to belong to Glorfindel, her heart lusted for the love and protection that Suladân gave.  The Haradrim chieftain was her second love, but he was the one to have loved her and to give her the Shams of her heart, Eruain.

"So it is decided?  You will be going to Harad?"  Elrond, out of courtesy, began speaking in Sindarin instead of Haradaic.

"Yes.  As soon as Suladân uses me as bait, hopefully Annatar and the Nine will leave in pursuit of me.  You will need a scout to determine when that does happen.  If they do not leave within a fortnight, I will rejoin with you on the outskirts of Minas Tirith and we will storm the hold of Minas Morgul with Haraduien, Elladan.  I trust that you would wish that to be our second option.  I understand your need for her and I will see her back to you even if it costs me my life.  Now, we should orchestrate this as soon as possible."  She paced, hovering in one spot as she put emphasis on her statements.  Anxiousness was overwhelming.  She wanted dearly to help Eruain, but she was going to see Suladân again.  He was like her drug and she was ready start shaking in withdrawal.  "The next new moon, which is in five days, I shall depart from here and head to Harad."  She swept the room with her gaze, confirming that everyone agreed with her plan at least somewhat and dismissed herself.  Arwen soon followed, troubled and silent, leaving the males to themselves.

"This is foolish," Gandalf whispered as he eased himself into a chair, rubbing his joints.  "She is being rash and her passion is blinding her.  If she is not careful, Suladân will kill her.  You know this, Glorfindel."

The blonde elf leaned stiffly against the window frame gazing at the moon, looking for guidance.  "Aye, I do.  But I have never been able to stop her before.  I do not hold that kind of power over her heart.  Why should I exert a power that I do not hold?"

"It is not just her safety I fear for, but for the success of the mission.  If it was carefully thought through and was decided after many hours of deliberation, I would have more confidence," Elrond chimed in.  "As of late I have had troubling visions and they fatigue me to no end.  My soul is weary and my body faint.  It is just a nagging feeling I have that we may not succeed in a way we wish to."

Elrohir, who had remained quiet just like Elladan, stood near the table, slouching against the wall in concentration.  So fast was their quest decided upon.  So quick was Alatar to throw her life away.  Just like Elladan.  Suicidal.  It was curiosity.  Of course.  Both were immortal.  They had nothing to fear from death, for normally they would not experience it, but given the chance, both were passionate for Eruain and would take the opportunity to give their lives because they wished to know what it felt like.  Elladan was not weary like Elrond.  No, he was longing to be like Eruain so he would not have to watch her die and know he would not be able to follow her.  Keeping all of his thoughts to himself, he spoke, "I will follow Elladan to Minas Morgul.  We will be the ones to take her from the hold."

"You will not go alone."  Glorfindel pledged his sword to the cause.  Elrond sighed in hopelessness. 

"It may be a folly, but I give you my blessings."


End file.
